Jack of Ravens(81)

‘Crazy, isn’t it?’ Church said with an irony that Niamh did not register.

Church’s attention was drawn by a colourful puppet show before which a group of children sat rapt. The puppetmaster rose up eight feet or more, his long black robes hiding whatever stilts he wore. His white mask featured an enormous nose that arched out like a bird’s beak. The puppets were the most amazingly lifelike that Church had ever seen, and it was only when he looked closely that he saw there were no strings. As he tried to see how the illusion was created, the puppetmaster made a flamboyant gesture towards him, and Church realised with shock that his height was entirely natural.

Church turned to Niamh. ‘Not all of these people are human.’

‘The denizens of the Far Lands take the opportunity to mingle amongst Fragile Creatures when they can do so undiscovered. Many have a deep affection for the Fixed Lands, and even for your kind. Some come for entertainment. And some for sport.’

Church could see she was right. Beautiful men and women with the golden skin of the Tuatha Dé Danann were dancing so gloriously that their feet barely touched the ground. A painfully thin man in a tall hat performed magic tricks. A woman with scales watched from the shadows. And there were others unusual in many ways, their true identities hidden behind the fantastic masks and costumes.

‘The fabulous and the strange have been a part of your world since your kind first appeared,’ Niamh said, ‘guiding your destiny with a gentle push here, a shove there. Influencing your writers and artists and musicians. Whispering in the ears of kings and religious leaders.’

Church considered how many great works and events might have been influenced from beyond. Was that guidance, or interference?

‘You people do have your advantages. It’s weird to be able to understand the Venetian dialect so easily,’ Church mused. ‘And when I speak, my brain tells me I’m talking English, but everyone understands me. Don’t get me wrong – I’m grateful for the upgrade. But it’s still weird.’

Niamh ignored him. ‘If your new friend had not decided this was a time of crucial events we could enjoy the music,’ she said blithely. ‘Would one dance hurt?’

Church relented while still keeping one eye on the shifting crowd. ‘ “Friend” is too strong a word for Tom,’ he said. ‘I can’t help but think he has his own agenda.’

Soon they were whirling around the square in one of the formal dances that the locals loved. Niamh’s hand was cool in Church’s; her smooth cheek brushed his and her lips breathed warmth onto his ear. He realised she was staring at him in a curious manner, her eyes huge and dark. When she saw he had caught her looking, she broke her gaze and then the dance.

‘Enough,’ she said. ‘These are dark times for both of us, and it is not right to indulge in frivolity.’

Nearby the Mocker juggled burning torches for the pleasure of a small crowd. He wore no mask, though none noticed. He caught Church’s eye and nodded towards a man in a harlequin costume slipping determinedly through the crowd. Tom followed at a distance, his dour features hidden behind a wolf’s-head.

‘Looks like Tom’s found our man,’ Church said. ‘I’ll meet you later.’

Niamh caught at his sleeve as he moved away. ‘Take care,’ she said, and before the words could register she was gone.



3



Lucia loitered alongside the canal where Tom had told her to keep watch. The sounds of revelry were muted there. Nearby, but hidden by the fog, her owl hooted mournfully. Adjusting her mask, which resembled a beautiful doll with pale skin and bright-red cheeks, she considered using an incantation to bring some light to the gloomy, lonely street. She was still amazed at how powerfully her Craft worked now that she was a Sister of Dragons. When she was a child in Sicilia, learning the words and rituals from her mother, who had learned them from her mother before her, she’d had many small successes: controlling small animals, shifting the moods of friends and enemies, altering the balance of fortune slightly. But it had been nothing like what she could do now. Most of the time she felt almost bursting with power, ready to bend even the weather to her will. It was increasingly addictive.

A man in a skull mask and skeleton costume appeared out of the fog and walked by. He nodded to her and continued on his way before halting under an arch, where he gave a short whistle that ended on an interrogatory note.

Within seconds, a man in a dog mask appeared behind Lucia. She sensed his presence and looked around as another man with a clown mask joined him. Lucia’s heart beat a little faster. Before she would have been scared, but her confidence in the Craft filled her with bravado.