City of Masks (9 page)

“Both right!” Forlinect said. “So you see, the weapons we used were the weapons we had then, and since they worked, we’ve kept them ever since, though different cities might use different weapons.”

“Garet,” Corfin said, “what do they use in the Midlands Banehall?”

Garet did not quite know how to answer.

“Corfin, I left before there was a Banehall in Bangt, so I don’t really know.”

“Well, what did you use to kill demons there?”

“Hmm. Well, if you really have to know, I killed my first demon with a copper pot and a fireplace poker!”

Even Forlinect joined in the laughter then. Hand on his side, he pointed at the newly dried rope-hammer coiled from its hook at Garet’s waist.

“We won’t ask you to demonstrate those weapons, but maybe you could show them something of that?”

He cleared the others back, and Garet took the loops of wire-reinforced leather rope in his hands. Holding it so the line would play out without tangling, he flipped the spiked end out and hit the nearest sand bag dead centre. A bit of sand flowed out when he jerked the rope back and caught it nearer the incoming metal ball, letting it swing harmlessly past his head. Then he showed them the strikes one could make with both sides of the pick-hammer end.

When he was done, Allifur put a finger in the hole torn in the bag.

“I wish I could use that,” she said.

Corfin nodded.

“You wouldn’t if you knew the number of bruises I got learning it,” Garet said. He put a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll find you a way to kill demons. I’ve promised, haven’t I?”

She nodded, and Forlinect dismissed the class. Before Garet left, the Red asked him an odd question.

“After the Snake Demon—and good job on that, well-killed Bane—you didn’t see anything strange on your way back to the Hall, did you?”

Garet shook his head, and Forlinect smiled and waved him away.

AFTER DINNER
, Garet retreated to his room to rest, forgetting that Marick would be waiting for him with his wild story of masked demon killers wandering the streets.

“Can’t this wait until tomorrow? I have patrols tonight with Tarix’s Golds, Ratal and Kesla.”

“But this is important, Garet!” Marick said. The small Bane was almost dancing in his irritation.

“Leave him be with your rumours and foolishness,” Dorict said from where he was curled up on his bed with a book angled to catch the last light of the day coming in through the window.

There was a knock on the door, and Garet opened it to find Salick waiting outside.

She came in and sat on the edge of Garet’s bed. That something was bothering her was clear from the way she fiddled with the end of one braid.

“Garet, have you heard anything about a second demon last night?” she said.

Before he could answer, Marick exploded.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell him, Salick! There’s something strange going on, and nobody is admitting it.”

Salick stared at the little Bane and raised one eyebrow, a trick all Golds seemed to practice in hopes of becoming Masters.

“Oh, and I suppose you know all about it, as usual,” she said.

Marick smirked. “Of course. No one steals secrets better than I. Remember, I knew you two were in love before either one of you did!”

He dodged a slap from Salick, a kick from an equally mortified Garet, and ended up beside Dorict, who hit him with his book.

“Ouch! Stop playing around, and I’ll tell you. The girl who survived the attack said men and women in black clothing slew the demon with sword, spear, and bow.”

“Bow?” Garet scoffed. “No one, not even a Bane could send an arrow straight when a demon is near! The girl is too upset to remember clearly.”

Salick held up her hand. “Perhaps not. I saw Master Relict come back in some haste last night when Master Bandat and I were returning from Patrols. He said nothing to us, which was strange, and even stranger were the arrows he carried in his hand, their points still bloody.”

“And it was his Golds who borrowed a cart and dragged the beast, a big Catcher Demon, to the repository. Salar was one of them, and he let slip that the jewel was already cut out,” Marick added.

Garet thought this over. “Perhaps the Banes who did it haven’t recorded the kill yet. Or old Arict forgot to write it down.”

“
Master
Arict might be old,” Salick said, “but she is scrupulous about the daily entries. That means, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, that it is possible the demon slayers were not Banes, or at least not Banes of this Hall.”

“But that’s not possible, Salick,” Dorict said. He closed the book carefully on a strip of cloth to mark the page. “Any Bane that travelled from another city would be known in the Hall and would not patrol on their own. And what non-Bane could do this? It all seems like mist and moonshine to me.”

“Marick,” Garet said, looking to where the small boy pouted beside his friend, “didn’t you tell me earlier that the slayers wore fiery masks and were aided by Heaven’s lightning, or some such froth?”

Marick waved his sarcasm away with one hand, while the other covered his heart.

“That last part was just for dramatic effect. What’s a good story without it? But I swear by Heaven and all the stars that the mask part is right. They weren’t children’s masks either, but made of stone, or so the girl said.”

“How would you really know what she said?” Garet demanded. “You heard this from a chain of people that stretched across the city!”

“Well, I had business, Hall business that is, in the Seventh Ward after lunch and happened to run across this girl in one of the south-side tenements. Out of courtesy, I asked after her health. I was invited into their room, and we had tea together. It was quite nice. Her parents might have thought my visit was on the orders of the Hallmaster, though I have no idea how they got that impression. But the story stayed the same, more or less: four in black, three men and a woman, all wearing stone masks and fighting like Banes against the beast. Save for the bow, of course.”

“Stone masks?” Salick asked. She looked to where Garet sat at his table. He was studying Marick, but it was to Dorict that he spoke.

“When was the last time you saw the silkstone suit of armor at Lord Andarack’s house?”

There was a shocked silence as the others wrestled with the implications of the question.

“Weeks,” Dorict said. “Perhaps a month now.”

“We need to find out more,” Garet began, but Salick held up a hand to stop him.

“Do we? Do we really need to? We aren’t in charge of the Banehall, Garet. I know we did much last winter that fell beyond our . . . duties, but that was a thing of life and death for the city, and it was Master Mandarack’s lead we followed. I think we should not . . . overstep our bounds this time.”

Marick gaped at her open-mouthed, and even Dorict seemed surprised. Garet was not as shocked. He had seen many Banes cling to the traditions and authority of the Hall since the Caller Demon had been killed and peace restored with the Palace and the Wards. It was as if they tried to forget the horror of that time by pretending that no great upheaval had occurred.

Salick, who loved the Hall more than her life, displayed this feeling to a greater degree than most.

Marick stuck out his chin, a sure sign of volcanic disagreement.

“Let’s leave this for now,” Garet said, hoping to forestall an argument and restore calm between them for now. “I’ll ask Tarix about this tonight, if she comes on patrol with us, and she can choose to enlighten us or not. We can all trust her, can’t we?”

Marick stopped in mid-swell and nodded. He worshipped Tarix and would not say anything that might jeopardize his future chances of apprenticing to the Red. Dorict nodded because it was sensible, and Salick smiled because Garet had suggested it. Garet turned to talk to her of more pleasant things. At least he still had a few hours until the late patrol.

THE WAREHOUSE WAS
a cavernous structure, filled with stacked crates and barrels. There was little light, perhaps by design. What there was shone on a space left open in the centre. Within it, a group of men and women, all dressed in black and bearing weapons, stood in rough lines. Their conversations were held in whispers and ended completely when a man came out of the shadows. He was not dressed in black, but in colorful silks that blazed in that gloomy company like a bird displaying its feathers in a dark forest. He stepped up on a box before speaking.

“Last night went well, very well. The city already speaks of your bravery, despite the Banehall’s attempts to deny it. Let them whine! The time of their supremacy is over. For centuries they have ruled, standing behind the Palace to keep us imprisoned within these walls. No more! Chirat, bring them now.”

A middle-aged man of portly shape and wearing even finer cloth than the speaker came bustling into the group. He pushed a small cart upon which was set a tray. What the tray held was hidden by a black veil.

“Yes, Gost, I have them right here.”

The other stepped down and laid a hand on the covering cloth.

“You have all earned the right to wear these. You earned that by enduring what you did last winter. When the Banehall and the King triumphed, you were cursed and hunted through the streets. It was Heaven’s will that you came to me, and that my friend Chirat could find refuge for you here in the Twelfth Ward. I know it must chafe at you to disguise yourselves as workers and warehouse labor during the day, but at night you can assume a truer, higher identity.”

He pulled away the cloth and revealed stone masks, bound and twined in gold threads, and each arranged so that it looked up into the eager and more expressive faces surrounding the cart. Carefully, Chirat handed them out and watched as the men and women tied them on with black ribbons. In a moment’s time, all save Gost and Chirat were masked.

“Go now,” Gost told them. “Show Shirath that even if the Duelists are no more, something greater has risen from their ruin.”

The masked figures edged into the shadows and were gone. The last to go was a woman bearing a spear, and she looked long at Gost before she too vanished. Whether she looked upon him in respect, fear, or even contempt was unknown—for a stone mask shows nothing of the wearer’s heart.

“
IT’S AN INSULT
,” Ratal declared, in a voice loud enough to turn the heads of other Banes passing by. They were standing outside the Banehall doors, waiting for Tarix. The Gold was incensed, his large mustache quivering as he spoke. “Sweep duty? Why should we follow other patrols while they make all the kills? We’re the best team in the Hall!”

“Are we?” Garet asked. He was coiling his re-stretched rope-hammer so that it would feed smoothly off its hook. He still worried about its flexibility, for the leather felt different after its foul soaking, but he had no wish to break in another if he didn’t have to. His cloak was in the way, and he threw it off his right arm to keep his movements free. The spring night was cold enough to show breath, but better a cold arm then a fouled rope if a demon attacked.

Kesla smiled at Garet and shrugged. The senior Gold, she was Ratal’s superior, but it was a distinction he often forgot.

The big man continued. “I’ve made three kills since mid-winter, haven’t I, and Kesla’s made two . . .”

“Four,” said Kesla.

“. . . and even little Garet here killed a Snake Demon last night . . .”

“I just held on to it while Salar killed it,” said Garet.

“. . . so why are we put to such insulting duties?” Ratal demanded.

“That would be because of me,” said Tarix. She had come up behind them unnoticed. She leaned on her trident and looked up at the tall Gold.

“Ratal, I’m sorry that a Bane’s duties leave you so dissatisfied, but we are on sweep because Hallmaster Branet is unsure of the condition of my leg and wishes to test me out on lighter duties. Does that meet with your approval?”

Ratal hung his head, abashed. In Garet’s experience of the young man’s attitude, this would be a temporary condition.

They listened while Tarix explained their patrol.

“Since there have been so many demons lately, one a day and two last night, more sweeps have been added. Most of the attacks have been on the Palace side of the city, so we are going to cross the bridge, sweep the plaza, and then take the Sixth, Fifth, and Fourth Wards, in that order. We will wait for the main patrol to leave each Ward before entering, and then make a quick sweep. Any questions?”

Garet spoke up. “Master, has this happened before?”

“This increase in attacks you mean?”

“Yes. It seems to be a lot. From my limited experience, I mean.”