With the briefest of touches on her gloved fingertips, Koezh left soundlessly. That was their way. Experience had taught them that their encounters should be brief and tender, else arguments break out, with dramatic consequences. Zhia was actually ahead in those slakes, having murdered her brother three times now, but they had long ago agreed that the novelty of killing each other had worn off and it was too much of an irritation to do so merely out of pique.
He would do as she asked; Scree was her affair now and he WOULDN'T interfere. As the Land edged closer to the brink of ruin and change flickered across the skies, they both knew this might be their best chance.
Zhia smiled.
CHAPTER 18
A wall of cloud surrounded the city, obscuring the moons and stars. Jackdaw could sense it enveloping the city, drawn by one man's call. The streets simmered in an unnatural humidity, as if the city were festering in its own sour humours. Wherever there was a flat roof he could see bedding laid out, and restless bodies shifting and squirming in the oppressive heat. The citizens of Scree were desperate to escape the stinking closeness of their houses but, in truth, outside was little better.
How long since I felt the breeze? he wondered. It must be just a few days, yet the memory feels more like a dream. From their high station, looking down on the dark bulk of the theatre, he could feel the heaviness in the air, a building storm that had refused to break, but instead lingered with sullen obstinacy, prickling the hairs on his neck. The sudden downpours of early summer had stopped, leaving the population panting like dogs and staring up at the sky with pleading eyes.
The taste of blood persisted in his mouth. He'd bitten his tongue in surprise when that bully from Narkang had crept up on him earlier. Ilumene's mocking grin had shone out from the shadows when he had least expected it. He probed the cut, wincing at the sting, but persisting, because in some strange way it reminded him he was still alive. Was it pain to drive away the numb aching in his heart, or just a reminder that he was human, with a human's foibles? But every time he fell the cut, he saw the blood, the man's life spilled out onto the stage, the final bitter act of their latest play.
'Now,' Rojak announced from his right. Jackdaw flinched, con¬stantly taut with dread whenever he was in the minstrel's presence. It was some three hours till dawn, and the city was almost silent in ltd miserable discomfort. Jackdaw had to stifle a yawn. He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept, not properly. He wouldn't tonight either, not with the sight of blood filling his mind.
'We are entertaining Scree with a fine barbed comedy, do you not think?'
Jackdaw said nothing. The play was mildly amusing, in a gross, simplistic way, but the initial humour was soured by the murder at the very end. Though Jackdaw – like the whole city, it appeared – had known it was coming, the sight of so much blood had sickened him. He'd turned his head away as the criminal plucked from the city gaol had howled and flopped around on the stage, interrupting the play by his refusal to die quickly. Ilumene, eyes glinting with fierce delight, had pointed out the anonymous figure of King Emin as the audience shuffled out in a cowed silence. The king's face had been as dark as thunder. The man from Narkang had not said why he hated his king so deeply, and Jackdaw was afraid to ask. Ilumene constantly hovered on the brink of savagery; the man's handsome features invariably twisted into a cruel scowl at the very mention of this king.
Thinking about Ilumene's hatred brought Jackdaw full circle back to the hateful play. Already the stallholders surrounding the theatre were lost to the spell carved into the timbers of the theatre's wall as it was being constructed. A few continued to work, scarcely even aware of their motions but driven by long-ingrained habit, but the rest had taken to roaming the streets muttering about ghosts, already lost to the madness. They were feeling the bitterness and gloom that echoed from the play's every line and washed out over the city by the minstrel's magic. Just the previous morning he'd listened to a fruit-seller, muttering to himself, hands clasped together, head twitching nervously, staring down at the feet of those passing by. He was terribly afraid that the man had been quoting a line of prophecy, from 'The Twilight Reign': Six temples, empty and crumbling – darkness heralded by song and flame.
Lost in his thoughts, Jackdaw almost missed Rojak's question, until Ilumene turned slowly to face him, his dagger hanging loose from his fingers as always. The edge was razor-sharp, but somehow Ilumene never nicked himself, even as he spun the blade through his fingers. The cuts and scars covering his hands were all intentionally inflicted; the only time Ilumene seemed to notice the knife in his hands was when he was slicing a new pattern into his own skin.
Quickly Jackdaw muttered something congratulatory, desperate to get Ilumene's eyes off him. Rojak smiled at his words and affected a preening of his clothes. If the man had not filled Jackdaw with such creeping dread, it might have looked comical. The minstrel's clothes were worn and tatty, and he gave off a stench of putrid flesh, for his body was rotting from the inside out. Soon he would be dead, but until then his awful prescience and unnatural powers burgeoned with every passing day. Jackdaw had no desire to know what disease Rojak had contracted, but it would not be coincidental. Their master was too cruel and calculating for that.
'And what is a vital ingredient of all comedic works?'
Jackdaw frowned, trying to find the right answer, but even the words of the script refused to be pinned down.
'A mistaken identity, of course,' trilled Rojak, for all the world as if they were having a sparkling conversation, 'with the inevitable humorous results.'
Humorous? I doubt anyone but Humene would find them funny, Jackdaw thought, but he said nothing. The opium Rojak smoked didn't ever cloud his mind; he was always listening, ever ready to pounce on a hesitation or a misjudged word. Jackdaw had made that mistake once, and the thought of doing so again sent shivers down his spine. The shadow watched constantly.
Rojak peered over the edge of the rooftop they were stood on, look¬ing intently down at the empty street below. And as it happens, we know someone who is desperately seeking a face in the crowd, don't we, Ilumene?'
'We do, and it would be rude to disappoint the man,' Ilumene purred in agreement. 'Especially when he was like a father to me for so many years.'
Whenever Ilumene spoke, it unnerved Jackdaw. The man was powerfully built, and he had hard callused palms that felt like wood when he slapped Jackdaw's face. He looked like a professional soldier, but his accent was cultured, suggesting intelligence behind that brutal facade. He was strangely hypnotic, and he could, when he chose, be as charismatic as a white-eye. At those times, Ilumene frightened Jackdaw even more than usual.
'Surely he'll kill you?' Jackdaw croaked.
'I doubt it,' Rojak said. 'Ilumene's former comrades would never dare, for the king will want to deal with this personally. I find their keenness to find us positively heart-warming.'
'You want to run the risk of them tracking you down as well?'
Rojak raised an admonishing finger. 'But then there would be no mistaken identity, thus no humorous unmasking once it's too late.'
Jackdaw struggled on. 'You want me to make someone appear to be you, or Ilumene?'
'Only a few weeks in the theatre and already you are learning its forms!' Rojak beamed. 'They're here to find Ilumene, so let them see what they want to see.'
'But who? Who is it you want them to kill?'
'Come now, that would hardly be fair on our poor actor. He is a man who has done nothing wrong, so he shall not be harmed.' Rojak waved Jackdaw away dismissively. 'Go and begin preparations for the spell. It must be ready by midday.'
'Where shall I meet you?'
'Oh, not me, I have other business to attend to. Ilumene, was there a member of the Brotherhood you held in higher regard than the others?'