Path of Smoke (29 page)

“How do I know it isn't working on me?”

“I suppose you can't ever know for sure.”

He frowned. “Maybe your intention is to betray us all—including Pendelia and Mardian. They don't seem to trust you either.”

“They trust my connections. All I am to them is a key.” He smiled. “If I bubbled them, I'd die horribly. Something long and imaginative. Spadones have a knack for torture.”

“You could always escape. Through the house, or one of the alleys.”

“All the alleys are connected. Mardian would find me, just as he found you, once. Besides. I'm not just protecting myself.”

Before he had the chance to ask what this meant, they reached the entrance. Miles stood by the painted doors, their bronze armor gleaming in the half-light. Red-and-white horseshoe arches supported the gate, forming an ingenious vault that was carved with braided designs. The geometric shapes made him dizzy for a moment, but he recovered. The trick was not to stare at them directly. Like the smoke, they had to be met with a kind of deference. Salamanders lazed at the foot of the arches, watching him absently. One of them was practically touching the sandal of a nearby miles. What was it like, standing adjacent to wonder, not seeing its pink tongue hovering next to your toenail?

Beyond the miles, he saw a snaking corridor that seemed to end in sharp angles. He could hear nothing beyond it. Just the hiss of the lamps, swaying on their chains, and the rustling of brass scales whenever a guard moved. The doors were painted with hexagons, interlocking to form strange patterns that might have been animals or human faces.

A woman in a plumed helmet stepped forward. Her hand rested on the pommel of her blade, which was carved with undinae. The likeness, he realized, was cheap.

“Who's this?”

“Entertainment,” Felix said. “An oculus was requested.”

“Not to my knowledge.”

Felix stiffened slightly. “The girl wants fireworks. Do you want to tell her that you've barred the oculus? Because she likes me, but she'll feed you to the lampreys if you spoil this evening for her.”

The miles looked uncertain. “I thought the lampreys died with her grandmother.”

“They keep them in the carcer, in a lightless room. I've seen them.” Felix shivered. “It's no way to meet the wheel, I can tell you that.”

She looked again at him. “You can really do fireworks?”

“Yes.” He tried to make it a statement, rather than a question.

“Fine. Let's see them.”

“Right here?”

“Good a place as any.”

He stared at Felix. The mask said:
I've done my job. This is on you.

His salamander had wandered off. The one sleeping by her sandal was starting to rouse itself, though. It looked at him with one eye. He knelt down beside it. He drew an orange peel out of his tunica. Some of the fragrance, no doubt, would cleave to the blade. The salamander brightened when it saw the peel. He laid it on the ground. It sniffed the treat, then devoured it in a single bite. The miles swore softly. Although she couldn't see the salamander, she'd definitely seen the peel vanish, as if the dust had swallowed it.

“I'm not completely sure how this works,” he whispered, “but I'd be grateful if you could breathe a bit of fire. Just a little bit. I don't want you to burn anything down. Even a smoke ring or two would—”

The salamander belched.

Flame scoured the spot directly in front of the miles, and she jumped back to avoid it. He smelled sulfur, and something that might have been undigested meat. Then the salamander, pleased with itself, curled into a burnished ball and went back to sleep. Its full stomach would no doubt bring pleasant dreams.

“Fortuna's cunny! That nearly singed me!”

“They love oranges.” It was all he could think to say.

“Satisfied?” Felix asked.

The miles stepped aside. “Go ahead. But if the spado holds you up, don't mention me. I've no desire to cross that mean little spider.”

They walked past the gates and down the corridor. He looked up and saw archers poised in landings above. At every blind corner, a sagittarius waited, bow trained. They crouched in front of murder holes, and all he could see were the gleaming points of arrows, a cloud that might break open at any moment.

“Was she talking about Mardian?” He tried to keep his voice down.

“We're well positioned. As long as nobody sounds the alarm, this could work.”

“You don't sound certain.”

“Now I'm the one who's distracted,” he murmured, glancing at the archers. “There are a million ways to die here.”

“We got in too easily. That can't be good.”

“It's not just the inside that I'm worried about. There are other dice in the cup.”

“You mean—” He felt something in the pit of his stomach. “My old company.”

Felix looked at him closely. “They're strangers to you, now. It may not feel that way, but trust me. You've paid your debt to them.”

Felix led him deeper into the arx. He marveled at the stalactite ceilings, where eyes both painted and real watched him from dizzying panels. Tapestries depicted Fortuna in all of her guises: masked, armed, locked in an embrace, reflecting bone. In the last image, she was a ragged fur, alone, clutching a bronze dagger. He looked down and realized that the salamander was still following them. It studied the tapestries, exhaling two thin plumes of smoke as it pondered the dance of Fortuna. There were no lares woven in the background, and he couldn't tell if the lizard was slightly offended or not.

Now he could hear voices. It might have been a party or a war council. He couldn't make out what anyone was saying. They climbed a flight of stairs, which ended in a dirty clerestory, full of disused fountains with lion's heads. There was a pile of frayed textiles in one corner, and something unidentifiable in the other, which smelled awful. He thought he could make out a few animal bones and small shadows moving in the margins, which were probably rats.

“It's not much,” Felix said, “but it offers a splendid view.”

He looked down and realized that he could see into a grand chamber below. There was a throne in the center, attached to a metal cylinder that was currently raised about five feet off the ground. A woman sat on the pneumatic throne, and everyone was watching her while trying to appear as if they were occupied with other things. She wore a pearl diadem and a gold collar that caught the light of a hundred swinging lamps. Her expression was distant. Before he could examine her more closely, Felix pulled him toward the ruined fountain.

“If she sees us,” he whispered, “we're not getting out of here alive.”

He knelt by the ledge. The chamber was crawling with miles and sagittarii. They were looking unsteadily at a group of creatures that gathered some distance away from the throne. Parts of them were vaguely human, although he couldn't stop himself from staring at their cloven feet. One of them wore a heavy gold chain, and he was watching the woman with the pearl earrings, suspended in space. He felt as if he'd seen this monster—this
silenus
—before, but the details were only a faint impression. A memory of some other life. He knew that he should be frightened. They were surrounded, not just by blades and arrows, but by creatures who had stepped out of an ominous frieze. This was not his world, however much Felix told him otherwise. He had no idea what to do.

But it wasn't fear that he felt. It was a dark sense of excitement. He looked down at the salamander and saw that it too, was waiting. Its tail dusted the ground. Something was about to happen, and it was larger than him, larger than this gilded palace surrounded by violets and knives. He was a stone in someone else's game, but for the first time, he could see the board clearly. The next move would change everything. He might not survive the glide across that dark space, but wasn't it worth the risk? To be part of something primeval. To step into those tapestries, where even Fortuna herself was alone. Some part of him had always wanted this. He'd just never expected that it would happen next to a pile of bones and mouse droppings.

“What's he doing here?”

A girl in a violet dress was standing at the foot of the stairs. Her soft shoes had holes in them, and her hair was in disarray. Only half of it was swept up in glittering pins, while the other half sagged, like a deflated cake. She must have been about ten years old, though her expression had a shrewdness that he wouldn't have associated with a child. She had the eyes of a royal daughter, expectant, freighted with a thin sadness. It wasn't ultimately the girl that drew his attention, though. It was the two mechanical foxes that crouched on either side of her.

He took a step forward. The foxes whirred as they regarded him, their black eyes swiveling in delicate brass cases. One was slightly smaller than the other. He heard a faint growl and realized that it was the salamander. It approached them warily. The foxes didn't move. It was clear that they could see the lizard, but they weren't about to offer a salutation.

“Quickly,” Felix said, “come over here, before she catches sight of you.”

The girl joined them in the shadows. “What are you doing here? And who is—” She frowned, looking at him. “Wait. I think I know you.”

“Not exactly,” Felix replied. “It's hard to explain. You shouldn't be here, Eumachia. It's not safe.” He turned to the larger fox. “Propertius, can you take her somewhere less exposed? I have a key to one of the hidden cells.”

“We merely advise,” the fox answered. His voice was low and had an odd, mechanical purr to it. “We can't drag her down the stairs.”

Felix sighed. “This is about to get ugly.”

“Are they alive?” He couldn't stop looking at the foxes. “Or is it some trick?”

“You have a short memory,” the smaller fox said. “When last we met, you knew the measure of us. Even after you'd just—”

Felix raised his hand to cut her off. “I don't mean to be rude, Sulpicia, but now isn't the best time to revisit that night. The shadow that you remember is no more.”

“I can see that.” She inclined her head. “My condolences.”

Eumachia stared at him again. “
Oh.
The auditor's dead.”

“That's what they tell me,” he said.

“I'm sorry,” she added. “I didn't mind him.” Before he could respond, she returned her attention to Felix. “I don't understand, though. Why aren't you with the others? Wasn't that why I gave you the note?”

He frowned. “What note?”

Felix didn't answer. Instead, he approached the edge. Something was happening. The foxes drew closer, silencing their gears. Eumachia followed. Below, he saw a round figure in a green tunic approach the raised throne. It was Mardian. He held something bulky, wrapped in embroidered silk. It was long enough to be a sword. He heard a
thrum
as the chair lowered itself on the metal cylinder, until she was at ground level. Then the basilissa rose, and all eyes were on her as she received the gift. Mardian didn't look up. He bowed slightly, and stepped back.

We're well positioned,
Felix had said.

But what was the note? Why did the girl seem confused?

Something wasn't right. It occurred to him that he couldn't see the entirety of Felix's plan. Only the mask saw everything, while the others remained in the dark. Even the foxes might have been uncertain, though their flawless eyes registered no emotion.

He couldn't say why he chose to look away from the scene below. Everyone was waiting for her to unwrap the silk. But for some reason, he stared across the room, at the mirror image of the clerestory where they were hiding. There was another staircase, joined to another landing, with its own ruined fountains and pile of bones. He could barely make out four figures, leaning over their own shadow edge. Watching.

Most of them, anyhow.

Their gaze was fixed on the strange tableau: monsters on one side, armed guards on the other, and in the middle, a woman holding something in her hands that might have been a weapon, or a body, some secret that had lain in an undercroft for centuries. A riddle that someone had borne to the woods, rain-soaked, never whole to begin with.

He felt a shock of recognition move through him. This was his company. Or it had been, in some dark before. There was a sagittarius in a rust-colored cloak, leaning against her bow. She had dark, tangled hair, and her eyes were fixed on the throne. Beside her, a miles stood, one hand resting on her sword. The lamplight caught her lone greave, making it shine like quicksilver. She was studying the guards. Next to her, an artifex was fiddling with something—he couldn't be sure, but it looked almost like a frog. Her hair was tied back, and she seemed entirely distracted by the device in her hand. She had no clue that across the gap of smoke and wavering light, two mechanical foxes were examining her workmanship.

But the fourth member of the company was looking at him. A trovador in a torn cloak, embroidered with what might have been dancing tigers. He held a lute, ridiculously, as if it were the closest thing he could find to a sword. They saw each other, he on one island, the trovador on another, fen-fast, worn down by pitiless tides. The smoke was all that joined them, parting momentarily so that they could gaze across these margins, which neither had chosen. The singer looked as if he might say something.

Then the basilissa raised her voice.

“This treasure was separated from its rightful home. It brings me great satisfaction to return it. Let this exchange mark a new age of cooperation for our people.”

She held a horn, which looked as if it had been carved from a mammoth's tusk. It was gilded with silver bands, and carved figures moved along its surface, engaged in some secret colloquy whose details remained elusive. If he squinted, the forms might have been lares, dancing to the edge of the horn's gilded tip. Mardian was staring at it with undisguised hunger.