‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Serrah sighed. ‘I guess this was a stupid idea after all. But I-’ Something caught her attention.
‘What is it?’
‘Over there. The small gate next to the main ones. See what I see?’
He peered through the gap in the dusty window drapes. ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’
‘You could hardly make a mistake about it; she’s pretty distinctive.’
A striking figure was leaving the grounds. She was athletically built and pale as snow, and her fair hair was cropped.
‘Interesting that she should be coming out of there, isn’t it?’ Reeth said. ‘Let’s get after her.’
‘Wait.’ Serrah dug in her pocket and brought out two die-sized orange cubes. ‘Face charms.’
‘Oh, no.
Must
I?’
‘Yes. The meld knows what you look like, and she got a look at me, too. She’d spot us in a minute without a disguise.’
‘I hate these things.’
‘I’m not crazy about them myself.’
He took the cube marked with an M, leaving the one with an F on her palm. ‘These are really expensive. Where did you get them?’
‘I couldn’t get the real thing. They’re counterfeits. So they
won’t be as reliable as a genuine spell. Won’t last anything like as long either, so bear that in mind.’
‘Great.’
‘Hurry up! She’ll be gone soon.’
He crushed the cube in his fist, then opened his hand. The pile of sandy dust flew from his palm and straight to his face, like a swarm of tiny airborne bugs. It settled as a fine, even coating, covering everything except his eyes and mouth, and instantly began creating the illusion. Serrah did the same, and in seconds their appearances were transformed.
‘Brunette suits you,’ he told her, ‘though I’m not so sure about the green eyes.’
‘Right. Now let’s-’
‘How do I look?’
She let out an exasperated breath. ‘Your Qalochian features have softened quite a bit. The blond hair looks all right, I suppose, but I don’t think much of the beard.’
Automatically, his hand went to his chin, but of course it felt just as smooth as always.
‘Can we
go
now?’ she insisted.
By the time they’d slipped out of the house the meld was halfway down the road. They followed at a safe distance, trying to look casual. Which wasn’t easy for Caldason, who felt self-conscious about the face charm. But nobody seemed to take any notice of them.
The meld turned into some of the centre’s busiest streets. Crowds made it easier for Reeth and Serrah to stay concealed, but increased the chances of losing her. They started to close the gap.
‘This damn thing’s beginning to itch,’ Reeth complained, fighting back the temptation to scratch his face.
‘So does mine. Try to ignore it.’
They were led up one steep lane and down another, then across a square. A block later they were in a busy street market.
‘Do you think she’s actually going somewhere or just wandering?’ Reeth said.
‘She seems to be walking with a purpose. Let’s get a bit nearer.’ She upped her pace.
The market sold everything. There were stalls with vegetables, fruit, cheese, meat, fish, bread and wine. Others were stacked with clothing, boots, saddles, chainmail, pottery, woven baskets, lucky charms and cheap glamours. Live lobsters were on sale, along with rabbits, cockerels, goats, kittens and venomous snakes. Healers held kerbside surgeries; soothsayers read fortunes from cards; people had their hair cut. Musicians strolled, plucking strings or blowing horns; jugglers flung their clubs; street jesters performed. Livestock bleated and everybody haggled.
Inevitably, there were glamours too. Creatures repulsive and comely materialised in flashes or expired in flaming shards every few minutes. Large and small blasts of magical radiance pulsed out on all sides. The din was fierce, and the air was scented with a thousand smells, pleasant and otherwise.
With the market growing busier, and the prospect of their quarry disappearing from sight, Reeth and Serrah had to follow at close quarters. They were almost near enough to reach out and touch the meld’s shoulder, should they be sufficiently foolish to do so.
‘The wretched thing’s tingling now,’ Reeth whispered, jabbing a thumb at his face.
‘Mine too. Don’t think about it.’
At that instant the meld stopped and turned. Reeth grabbed Serrah’s arm and pulled her to one side. Their heads went down and they pretended to be engrossed in a display of cheap jewellery. From the corner of his eye, Reeth was aware of the meld looking their way. A long moment later she resumed walking.
‘Think she spotted us?’ Serrah asked.
‘Don’t know. But at least she’s not running. Come on.’
They continued to trail her. The meld kept to an easy stride, occasionally glancing at the wares on sale, but mostly concentrating on weaving through the crowd. Emboldened, Serrah and Reeth began closing the gap again.
About six paces separated them from the meld when she stopped again. Once more, she spun around and stared. By this time her pursuers had drifted to the middle of the street, well clear of the stalls on either side. They froze.
‘Shit,’ Serrah muttered. ‘Look disinterested.’
‘Any idea
how
?’
The meld took a step towards them, then noticeably started.
‘Reeth.
Your face.
’
His features were liquefying. In seconds his eyes reverted to their original colour, the shape of his cheekbones went back to normal, his whiskers fell away.
‘Lousy fakes!’ Serrah cursed as her own disguise began to fade.
The meld turned on her heel and ran to the right. But as she moved, a near-identical duplicate dashed to the left. The two figures were joined by a membrane, a glistening film resembling a wet spider’s web. When they were separated by a couple of yards it ripped apart and the halves were each rapidly sucked back into their bodies.
Now two foes were advancing on Reeth and Serrah, and all four of them went for their blades. The crowd, dense as it was, shrank away.
‘Watch that one!’ Reeth warned, pointing at Aphrim.
‘Watch your own!’ she tossed back.
Aphri and Aphrim moved in.
The female came at Reeth fast. Their blades clattered together and the pounding began. Her passes were quick and surgical. He matched her for skill and gave as he got. They bobbed and leapt, whipping the air with steel.
Where Aphri was agile, Aphrim was strong. The first time their blades met, Serrah felt the shock from wrist to shoulder. She withdrew nimbly from his next stroke. As he regrouped she was under his guard and swiping. He blocked, and set her bones shaking again.
With Reeth and Aphri it was keen-edged precision. She engaged him with a series of probing nips, interspersed with wide, unpredictable swings. He ducked. Her blade sailed over his head and sliced a rope supporting a wooden cage of chickens. The cage fell and burst in a turmoil of squawking and feathers.
Reeth battered at the meld, forcing her back. Then he struck her blade a glancing blow. It was no more than a metal kiss, but she’d over-stretched, and lost balance. She staggered, slipped and crashed into a greengrocer’s barrow, bringing it down. While she lithely recovered, rolling a yard and springing to her feet in one fluid move, the grocer’s stock disgorged. There was an avalanche of apples, cauliflowers and onions. Potatoes, turnips and oranges bounced in all directions. Some of the crowd scrabbled for them, or trod them underfoot. People slipped and fell on the mush as the stall’s owner bellowed impotent oaths.
Caldason and the meld squared off again. The crowd was shouting and brewing minor fights of its own. Caldason knew it was a bad place for a brawl. Law enforcers were going to be drawn like flies, and soon.
Serrah and Aphrim had fallen into a slog of hack and slash. He was given to vicious downward swipes, using his sword like an axe, and one nearly cleaved her. Instead his blade ploughed through the wooden support of a stall selling beer. The counter pitched forwards, hurtling half a dozen barrels to the ground. Two smashed instantly in foaming amber explosions. The others rolled into the crowd, bowling one man off his feet and triggering fistfights for the spoils.