The Orphan Queen (14 page)

Though most people stayed clear of the man, a few stepped in as though to ask questions—and then pulled back when a police officer approached.

“I have a right to speak!” the man yelled. “You can't stop me.”

“If you have information on the vigilante Black Knife . . .”

Their voices faded into the din of the crowd as I moved past.

When I reached Laurence's Bakery half an hour later, I slipped into an alley, pulled my cap toward my eyes, and climbed onto the roof. With my body pressed against a chimney, I scanned the area to make sure I was alone. Nothing. Just starlight and mirrors and the pale glow of the city slowly falling to sleep.

I darted south, keeping myself small and quick so the mirrors wouldn't catch me. It wasn't hard to retrace Melanie's steps; my memories were sharp and clear.

I leapt onto the roof of a chandlery and stopped.

This was it. I was standing in the last place I'd seen Melanie before Black Knife interrupted my pursuit.
Now
what? Though
I was on my way out of Thornton, the Flags were enormous, and there were three of them. She could have gone anywhere, even doubled back into Thornton or Greenstone.

A deep voice came from behind me. “You're just everywhere, aren't you?”

I spun and had my daggers drawn before his question was half finished. “Black Knife.”

“Nameless girl.” He stood on the edge of the roof I'd just left, with only a small jump between us. His hands hung at his sides, no weapons, but his crossbow and sword were only a quick reach away. “Again, without your entourage. I know you're not out here to stop thieves or gangs, so you can just tell me the truth. What are you doing?”

My grip on my daggers didn't slacken despite his apparent ease. “Taking a walk.”

“Most people use the street.”

“Standing on a roof isn't illegal, is it?”

“There was a robbery in Greenstone a couple of weeks ago. Right around the time I saw you, actually.”

“And you think I'm responsible?” I feigned affront.

His gaze dipped to my weapons before he sat, letting his legs dangle from the roof. The leather of his boots shone in the weak lamplight from below, and the silk kept his face perfectly concealed. Still, with the relaxed set of his shoulders and the easy way his hands rested on his knees, he looked comfortable. Cocky. “I don't think a robbery like that is beyond your skill.”

“A compliment and an insult in one sentence.”

“Would you like to sit?” He leaned his weight onto one arm, glancing down into the quiet alley. “People rarely look up, but we're
not the only ones to use the rooftops as a second street. I'd rather not be seen.”

Cautiously, I found solid footing and crouched, keeping my daggers in my hands. “Are you following me?”

“How can I when I don't know who you are?” The words sounded like a sneer.

“That makes us even. I don't know who you are, either.”

“Good.”

What did he want with me? “Why do you wear a mask?”

“To hide my face. That's the function of a mask, after all.”

I rolled my eyes. “Why do you hide your face?”

He went still for a moment, almost a statue's shadow. “I think the more pressing question is this: why don't
you
wear a mask, considering your suspicious proximity to crime?”

I repeated Patrick's belief: “The best mask is a face no one will remember.”

“Oh,” he said, and looked at me as though I were a mystery. “I don't see how anyone could forget your face.”

Compliments again. Why couldn't he just chase me, like normal? Unless—no, he couldn't know me from the palace. If he recognized me, I wouldn't still be there. “Are we going to fight?” I asked.

“Do you want to?”

“Not particularly.” But fighting would be a lot more straightforward.

He shrugged. “Then we don't have to. As you said, standing on a roof isn't illegal, and I can't prove you're responsible for the warehouse robbery.”

“Is that how it works? You prove that the people you
capture were breaking the law?”

“Sometimes.”

“What about the rest of the time? What if you caught someone about to break into that warehouse, but they hadn't actually succeeded yet?”

“I'd bind them and leave them where the city police would find them.”

“With no proof they'd done—or were about to do—anything?” When he didn't respond, I said, “Who gave you the authority? If you have your heart set on stopping violence and crimes, there are less dramatic ways to do it. Or do you enjoy the reactions to your theatrics?”

“I have my reasons. As I'm sure you have your reasons for fighting and stealing.”

Wind howled through the alley below, bringing only the normal odors of the city: sweat and smoke and waste. The thuds and squeaks and cracks of humanity's presence softened as Skyvale residents headed to bed.

“I'm not admitting to anything—”

He laughed.
Laughed
. “No, I don't imagine you ever would.”

I hefted a dagger in his direction, and he held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Sorry. You were saying?” There was still a hitch of laughter in his voice as he made himself comfortable again.

“If
I
were going to fight and steal, it'd be because I had no choice. It would be for survival.”

“When does fighting and stealing become more?”

I lifted an eyebrow. “Like what? Murder?”

“How interesting that's where your mind turned.”

“Well, it was recently suggested that my life might be easier if I'd let someone die.” I squeezed my dagger hilt. “But I left one of these in a glowman's hand to keep that from happening, you see.”

Black Knife shrugged. “I thought that was simply a diversionary tactic, to allow you time to get away.”

“It served two purposes.” I smirked. “But I'm not a murderer, and I wouldn't just
let
someone die. Even a menace like you.”

He cocked his head, leaving his hands motionless in his lap. “Do you think others feel the same way? About stealing and whatnot, I mean.”

I hesitated. “Some. Maybe most. There are parts of Skyvale where people feel they cannot afford to be civilized. Desperation makes them dangerous. But I've seen others who would fight and steal regardless of their circumstances. Like those glowmen, and the gangs that supply them with chemicals and wraith. They just like the thrill of violence. They like hurting people, even children. They like making things burn.”

“That's a very bleak outlook.”

“No. It means I know to be careful. You can't always tell which way someone leans.” I shifted my weight to keep blood flowing through my limbs.

“And you lean toward desperate danger.”

I scoffed, gesturing at his black uniform and the array of weapons. “I suppose you think your reasons for fighting are nobler than mine.”

“I was going to ask about your circumstances. What led you to this life.” He paused. “Hypothetically, that is.”

Not that it was any of his business: “Hypothetically, I fight and steal to help others.”

“The other Ospreys. The children I saw.”

The Ospreys. The victims of the One-Night War. The people still of Aecor. Yes. I leaned toward desperate danger; I would do anything for my people.

In Hawksbill, the clock tower chimed midnight. Starlight, and a sliver of moonlight, set the mirrors aglow, half illuminating the boy across from me. His long, lanky body appeared relaxed, but I'd seen him spring up and fight frighteningly quick before. I could not relax.

“I think I agree with you,” he said at last. “Most people want only to survive. Perhaps, if they were able to afford to be civilized—as you put it—even the gangs and glowmen would be kind and generous and law-abiding.”

The thought made me snort. “That's an optimistic view.”

“You make optimism sound like an accusation.”

“Maybe you haven't seen as much of the city as you think.” Hadn't he heard the glowman the other week? When I'd asked why he attacked my people, he'd simply claimed they looked
easy
.

Black Knife waited a moment before asking, “What about flashers? Do you think they're deliberately using their magic to bring the wraith closer? Do you think they like making things burn?”

Every muscle in my body tensed. I wanted to leap to the other roof and strangle him, but that would get me nowhere—except maybe shoved to the street below. I took measured breaths until I could speak calmly.

“I need to go.” My thighs ached as I stood.

In only a heartbeat, Black Knife pushed himself up and crossed the gap. I raised my blades, but he grabbed my forearm and twisted me around, bending my wrist so the dagger fell to the rooftop. With one arm around my waist and his free hand clutching both of my wrists, his breath came in harsh gasps by my ear. “Who
are
you?”

Trembling with how easily he'd disarmed me, I hissed, “Take off your mask. Then we can discuss identities.”

His breathing grew deeper and even. “No. I don't think so.”

“Let me go.” Dull pain throbbed through my wrist where he'd bent it.

“Once you tell me what you think about flashers. Do you think they're just like gangs and glowmen, and eager for the end?” His body was warm against mine, even as the night cooled around us. Gusts of wind brought the scent of an oncoming storm. Veils of clouds blew eastward, shrouding the stars.

“No,” I said. “I think most are desperate. Everyone knows about the wraith, but it's hard to care about that when your children are starving or cold or sick, or when gangs are demanding tolls for traveling streets you can't avoid. They have nothing but this one ability, and the people in power forbid it. They're terrified to use magic, but more afraid not to.”

“Even though it's destroying our world?”

“Several problems are immediate. One is not.” I shivered. “Everyone knows about you.”

He was quiet.

“You
seek
flashers. And once you find them, they're never seen again. What do you do with them?”

“Good night, nameless girl.” Black Knife released me.

I staggered away, scooped up my daggers, and spun. The tip of one blade rested under his chin.

His eyes found mine, and he stilled.

I could turn the dagger blade vertical. Cut a slit in the silk that covered his face. Maybe find out who hid behind that mask.

He'd disarm me as soon as I moved. We'd fight, and I'd have to explain away strange cuts and bruises when I returned to the palace.

“Are we going to fight?” he asked, echoing my earlier question.

My voice grew hoarse. “What happens to the flashers?”

“Good night.” He reached up, as though to shove away my dagger.

“Black Knife.”

He held my gaze and didn't move. His black-gloved hand hung suspended in the air, just breaths away from my wrist.

I licked my lips. “Are they killed?”

Carefully, gently, Black Knife took my hand and pulled away from the dagger. His tone turned darker. “I will find out.”

Then he stepped off the edge of the roof and vanished into the shadows.

“
LAST NIGHT WAS
a success,” Melanie said, beckoning me to sit in front of the mirror. As she brushed and braided my hair, she described sneaking into the general's office and navigating his haphazard organizational system.

“So he's messy.”

“Say it again. I was embarrassed for him.” Her mirror-self grinned. “But there's good news. The letter recalling the Aecorian troops will go out this afternoon. I used money from Colin Pierce's own box to pay the courier.”

“Very nice.”

“While I was snooping around, I found a map of Aecor with Indigo Kingdom troops marked. I took note of the locations and numbers. I haven't found the list of resistance groups in Aecor, but I did see a few references to it in other notices.”

“But that covers most of the intelligence on the Indigo Army?” Excitement fluttered inside me. We'd been here not even
two weeks, but we'd completed nearly half our tasks.

“Almost. Patrick wanted to know what kind of weapons they're carrying and other details like that.” She finished plaiting my hair into a swirling coronet, leaving just a few tendrils hanging to my shoulders. Every time I turned my head, a thin whiff of rosewater lifted off my hair; it was in the soap. “I'll keep looking for more information, as well as the list of the resistance groups.”

“Good. I need to do some snooping, too. I saw something interesting at the wraith mitigation meeting that made me curious.”

“Oh? Something interesting like the
royal scenery
?”

“The royal scenery?” I made a gagging face at her.

“But it would make Quinn so happy if you'd at least write her a letter and describe him. Maybe the bodyguard, too, while you're at it? I'll add them to tonight's report.”

“Shut your mouth! I will not waste precious ink on that bore!”

She laughed. “Does this have anything to do with the long walk you took last night? Maybe you were meeting someone?”

Before I could make up an answer, a footman came to whisk me toward the Dragon Wing, where the king and his immediate family lived.

After traversing a maze of halls, I was deposited in a dining room large enough to seat ten or twelve people. The room was lavishly decorated, with a heavy oak table and matching chairs, and a lace tablecloth that gleamed like silk under the midmorning light falling through the open window. Gold-framed paintings hung on all the walls, portraits of the Pierce family
going back several generations. The fashion changes over the centuries might have been interesting to study, but movement caught my eye.