Queen of faces, p.10
Queen of Faces, page 10
‘To me, it appears you have two choices,’ said Carriwitch. ‘This can be a temporary setback, a chapter in your long and storied memoirs. Or, your future can shrink to a dirty mattress. All the great things your life could have been, cut to pieces by circumstance. And –’ his voice lowered – ‘you could lose him for good. The boy who still loves you more than anything.’
Samuel. I saw his face. The lake where we’d walked on water together. My chest ached.
‘It’s not too late,’ said Carriwitch. ‘All you have to do is find Khaiovhe.’
The headmaster’s words sank into me, one after the other.
The dark envelope caught on a stream of water and slipped into a storm grate.
As it fell, my right hand shot out like a viper, darting into the drain. My fingers snapped shut like a mousetrap, grabbing it mid-air.
I withdrew my hand and peeled open the letter. A bone-white rectangle fell into my hand. A folded slip of paper, small enough to fit in a wallet. My eyes widened, and I held my hand over it, keeping it dry.
It was a new sword, identical to my old one. A weapon, a paintbrush. And if I was lucky, a way home.
‘One more thing,’ said Carriwitch, turning to leave. ‘You’re wrong about me. I don’t want my old job again.’ He glanced back at me, his blue eyes cold as a glacier. ‘I just want her dead.’
His robes billowed, and he soared into the darkness.
* * *
The next morning, I ventured to a capsule hotel on the far side of Lowtown. I waited in the shadows behind a rusty dumpster, and watched a short, scrawny boy step out, sporting pale grey hair and grey eyes. No, not a boy. A girl in an Edgar: the cheapest face in the world. She wore a dark blue raincoat, grazing the tops of her shoes.
Anabelle Gage. The thief who had ruined my life. My nails dug into my palm, and I resisted the urge to charge forward and cut her down. I needed her. I would use her to find Khaiovhe.
Then I would open her guts and return home with two prizes for my mother.
I slipped back into the alley and extended my Pith into the yellow knapsack I’d stolen. Two vertical slits had been cut down the sides, and the straps squeezed my chest like a harness. I stretched my arms, and a pair of paper wings unfolded from the bag, cut from a massive white sheet. I willed the cellulose bonds to harden, to line up like soldiers and lock shields.
Then I extended my Pith into my clothes and yanked myself upwards, rising above the brick walls of the nearby houses. I landed on the slanted tiles of a rooftop and peered at Gage, who was strolling through the streets below. I darted to the edge of the building and soared to the next one, my wings catching the air. The girl took a rattling tram up the mountain, and I tailed her from above. The rooftops grew taller as we went higher, the stench of rubbish fading into clean, fresh sea air. Finally, in upper Hightown, she ambled into Eminent Forms, and I dropped to the ground in an alley behind a teashop, sheathing my wings. I elected not to follow her in. Gage might be clueless, but the store guards weren’t.
While I waited for her to leave, I pondered my strategy, watching the cars putter down the smooth street. If I was to make this girl my pawn, I would need a proper introduction, to ensnare her trust and dull her caution. And I would need a name.
I strode on to the street, wearing my stolen outfit: a black waistcoat over a button-up shirt, and a dark green raincoat thrown over it, billowing around my narrow trousers. A Voidsteel stud hung from my ear, a pinch of spice in the ensemble. Looks a bit silly with the backpack, said the Samuel in my head.
Shut up, I thought affectionately.
A minute later, Gage staggered out of the store, her eyes wide and her skin flushed. When she stepped on to a storm drain, I stretched my Pith into her peeling shoe. I grabbed it with my mind, holding it in place and tripping her on to the street.
At the same time, I extended my Pith into a nearby car. I held down the gas pedal, cut the brakes and took over the wheel. Under my command, it shot at the helpless Gage, on a straight collision course.
At the last possible second, I stepped in front of her.
The paper sword shot out of my wallet and unfolded itself. It extended to its maximum length, longer than I was tall. I engaged Folding Edge, sharpening it to perfection.
Then I whipped the sword forward in an upward arc and sliced the car in half.
The blade cut through the metal like a cleaver through a blueberry, carving open the hull. The left half of the vehicle fell on its side and screeched to a halt. The right half crashed into a news-stand, sending bystanders scurrying.
I gazed down at the girl I’d pretended to save. Up close, she didn’t exactly radiate danger, her eyes wide, her mouth slack. A monochrome soul, with a brain like cold porridge.
After she’d served her purpose, even killing her would probably be boring.
I extended my hand to her, and a name flashed in my mind, sliding into place like a thread in a needle. A shrewd warrior, who had ruled an empire with the power of his mind. A man with focus, with vision, feared by most and respected by all. The last king of the Star Prophets.
‘Well met, grey girl.’ I smirked. ‘I’m Wes.’
My mother’s words echoed in my head. Body is a privilege. Memory is a privilege. Name is a privilege.
Wes. For the time being, it would do.
the boy, wes, smirked down at me. He held a thin white sword in his fingers, his eyes flitting over me. A long, narrow scar ran across his pale face, and a dark green raincoat hung from his shoulders, covering a black vest. His dark brown hair was tousled, windblown like he’d just walked through a storm, and several strands hung across his forehead like errant blades of grass.
He was breathtaking. Polished, sharp, like the shining blade of a knife. A piercing beauty who knew the effect he had on people. With a face like that, you could blink at a room and have half the spectators fall for you. And the other half would still vie desperately to earn your approval. It was almost frightening.
I glanced at the car he’d just cut in half. The driver had crashed into a news-stand, loose papers raining on the wreckage of his vehicle. He looked unharmed, if shocked. Bystanders gaped at us.
‘Weston Brown,’ he said. ‘A pleasure. But you can call me Wes.’ He hadn’t even flinched at the oncoming car. And his sword had moved with the effortless grace of a serpent striking its prey. ‘I suggest we leave, before some Humdrum calls the police.’
Blinking, I took his outstretched hand. I’d never been in a situation like this. Handsome boys didn’t deign to notice girls like me, much less talk to us.
‘Prophets,’ he groaned. ‘Your skin feels like ice.’ He yanked me to my feet, and I stumbled forward. The boy was stronger than he looked, slender, but powerful, like an elite fencer.
I opened my mouth to protest, and he yanked my hand, spiriting me forward. The two of us raced down the sloped streets of Hightown, weaving past walled gardens and shrubberies, rustic mansions and roaring automobiles.
After an eternity of jogging, we emerged at the Midtown Markets, winding streets packed with shops and pubs and university students, splayed out on the steep incline of Mount Elwar. Large, blocky signs advertised cigars and grape soda, and a corner store offered comic books and fivepence novels. We slipped into a tearoom and sat at a table, out of breath.
‘How,’ I said between gasps, ‘do you know who I am?’
The boy snorted. ‘Carriwitch said you were smart.’ He looked me over. ‘To earn my skills, you’ll have to do better.’
Carriwitch had sent me someone. A boy who’d protected me. Whose skills I needed to earn. ‘You’re my partner. Another mercenary. You’re here to help me find Khaiovhe.’
‘Indeed.’ Wes held up an opened dark blue envelope. ‘Now, I understand that a half-share is quite a lot to pay me, but if you can’t survive your jobs, you’ll keep a hundred per cent of nothing.’
‘Do I have a choice?’
Wes shrugged. ‘Mercenary groups break up more often than high school sweethearts. You can send me away any time. But give me a chance. I think we’ll work great together.’
‘How am I supposed to trust you?’ I said.
‘You can’t trust anyone, grey girl,’ said Wes, ‘but ask Carriwitch. He really did send me. And you really do need help. That Rainbow Veil is quite something, but you’re no warrior.’
My skin jolted at the mention of my Codex.
‘Don’t look so surprised,’ he said. ‘Your body language is an open book. A bad habit.’ He flagged down a waitress and ordered two cups of tea. ‘And you only have your first branch, no?’
‘First branch?’
‘You don’t know about branches?’ said Wes, incredulous.
Colour rose to my cheeks. I shook my head.
‘Most mages just use other people’s spells,’ said Wes. ‘Nudging. Water and metal magic. Et cetera. But a lucky few of us have a Codex. A unique magic spell born out of your mind. The moment of epiphany when you create it is called the first branch.’
I thought of when I’d discovered Rainbow Veil, a tiny blue flicker in my eye.
‘If you’re practising it, you can sometimes have another epiphany. A moment of personal growth. And your ability can grow a new power that branches from the old one. A second branch. At first, Professor Havstein’s Codex could barely cool a cup of tea. But he’s grown dozens of branches, and now he can freeze a whole lake with a flick of his wrist.’
‘What does personal growth have to do with your Codex?’
‘You really don’t know anything, do you?’ Wes looked at me quizzically. ‘Your Codex is a reflection of your mind. If your mind grows, so too will your Codex. Everyone knows that. Well, everyone who’s not a Humdrum.’
‘And what can your Codex do?’ I said, defensive.
Wes removed a five-pound note from his pocket. He held it in the air, then dropped a metal spoon on it. The spoon fell apart, sliced in two lengthwise. The pieces clattered to the table.
‘This is Folding Edge, my Physical Codex,’ said Wes. ‘It allows me to alter the fundamental properties of space, folding dimensions in an environment of cellulose.’
I blinked at him.
He sighed. ‘It makes paper sharp. Very sharp. It only works when I’m touching it, though. Hence the sword.’
‘You’re a Physical Specialist,’ I said. ‘So, you’re good at maths?’
‘And chemistry. And physics. Don’t look so surprised, grey girl. I had good teachers.’
‘What teachers?’
‘Shenti hedge mages,’ he said. ‘An unregistered group who adopted me from an orphanage. They raised me, taught me everything I know.’
I nodded. ‘My mother is Shenti. Humdrum, though. Must’ve been tough, growing up during the war.’
Wes shrugged. ‘I’d rather not talk about it. Leaving was rather unpleasant.’
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Why’d you leave?’
‘I thought I was a boy. They disagreed.’
I bit my lip. He wasn’t born in that chassis, then. It made sense. The Shenti specialised in Sinew magic, which depended on accepting your own body. Some of their older mages didn’t approve of swapping.
‘On the autumn equinox, we found this body in a Star Prophet ruin. The others were going to throw it into the ocean. Instead, I stole it, and ran.’ He touched the scar on his face. ‘On my way out, they gave me this. A present for my sixteenth birthday.’
‘So, you prefer it, then,’ I said, leaning forward. ‘This body.’
Wes folded a sugar packet, staring at his tea. He gave a little nod.
‘I can tell.’ I smiled. ‘It looks good on you.’
He snorted, but his cheeks turned red.
He was like me. A reject. An outcast who’d been stuck with the wrong face.
I extended my hand, and we shook.
‘Marvellous,’ said Wes. ‘You’re smarter than you look.’
‘One more question,’ I said. ‘Are you familiar with the puzzle of Westyn’s spellbook?’
Wes raised an eyebrow. ‘Never heard of it.’
We got the bill, and I reached into my pocket to pay for half. It was empty. I fumbled around in my raincoat, grasping for the money I knew I had.
‘Looking for this?’ Wes held up the five-pound note from his demonstration, balancing it on his finger. ‘Your first lesson, grey girl. A mage can always surprise you. Make sure you’re the surprising one.’ He tossed the note at me, then strode for the door.
‘I’m regretting this choice already,’ I said. ‘Does that surprise you?’
He glanced back. A faint smirk played at the edges of his lips. ‘It’s us against the house, Anabelle Gage. And they’ve got a lot more chips.’ He gave me a long, careful look. ‘Don’t let me down.’
And with that, he was gone.
After I met Wes, I read Westyn’s spellbook again in my sleeping pod, studying it until my eyes ached. Before I knew it, the clock was striking midnight. The third of September. Two days until the fifth. Until I ran out of money.
My eyelids fluttered, my thoughts still swirling as I drifted into sleep. Which half mattered more? Full or empty? Full or empty? The question spun in my head, over and over, but I had no answer, no clue that would help me defend my mind.
The next day at sunrise, a wrapped parcel showed up at my sleeping pod, with no return address. I opened it to reveal a white dress shirt and pleated grey trousers, with a grey coat on top, sewn with the White Sphinx of Paragon. My school uniform. From Carriwitch, no doubt. I threw on the clothes, then headed to the academy in the afternoon.
This was no simple matter. Until a decade ago, the school had been a hidden sanctuary, concealed from the prying eyes of Humdrums. Today, the world of magic was exposed, including Paragon, thanks to Khaiovhe’s massacre. The floating islands were laid bare in the sky, no longer invisible.
Still, old habits died hard. The more of Paragon’s secrets that came to light, the tighter they clung to the rest. Humdrums were forbidden from school grounds, except for cooks and cleaners, and the various entrances were kept hidden from the public, ostensibly for security. You couldn’t attack the school if you couldn’t get in.
There was no visible path upwards, and first-years couldn’t fly, so that couldn’t be the way in, either. The maids had sometimes gossiped about it in Clementine’s basement. I heard it’s a big staircase, Ophelia had whispered, and it just carries them up. Beatrix disagreed. I heard they just vanish, and pop back inside. But no one knew. Not really.
So, I found my heart racing when I discovered a note card tucked into the pocket of my grey coat: Carriwitch’s directions for entering the true world of magic. The moment I picked it up, it started to dissolve in my hand, some kind of special paper reacting to my sweat and body heat. My eyes scanned over the lines, memorising them as they melted away.
I took the tram up to the East Midtown library, energy thrumming in my veins. When I was halfway up the mountain, it started drizzling, and I jumped out and ran. By the time I arrived at reading room 17, I was drenched, wheezing and still bursting with spirit.
I stood in a tiny, dusty room, alone, with a wooden desk in the corner and a small shrine to the Star Prophets. Many in this nation still worshipped their old kings as holy figures, though my mother had always scoffed at the practice. An antique bookshelf was embedded in the wall. Rather than flat rows, the shelves wound in a spiral, with a large, dusty mirror in the centre. I shut the door behind me and glanced at my reflection, reciting the words from Carriwitch’s note card.
‘Take me to the sky,’ I said.
Then I blinked. The mirror didn’t show my reflection any more. When I looked into its depths, a middle-aged Shenti woman stared back, boasting short dark hair. An eerily familiar face. The last time I’d seen it, she’d been sleeping as I emptied her wallet to purchase my ferry ticket to Elmidde.
My mother. I choked. How was this possible? Enchanted objects were near-unheard of. For almost all spells, you had to have a mage actively casting the effect. And how did they know what she looks like?
I fought off the guilt swelling in my chest. I’m sorry, I wanted to say. I took your money and ran. I left you all alone. And now I was at the school she hated.
She spoke, and my mother’s voice echoed from the mirror. ‘Will your mind rise above the devouring sea? Will you carve your soul to perfection?’ Her eyes pierced through me. ‘Will you strive to be an Exemplar?’
I swallowed. ‘I will.’
My mother vanished, and the room melted. The mirror, the walls, the bookshelves. The desk and the shrine and the dusty floor. All of it turned liquid, like reality was a fresh painting, being wiped away by the artist’s hand. It absorbed into the floor and ceiling, and when I blinked again, I was standing in a stone tunnel, carved with stairs and winding into the mountain. Dim orange lanterns hung from the walls, lit with glowing gemstones. The door sat behind me, still leading back to the library. The only part of the room that hadn’t been liquefied.
At Paragon, everything looked like a miracle, even the front doorstep.
I strode up the stairs, as fast as I could without falling. They went on and on for ages, but I never got tired. After an hour, the lanterns faded, and I caught a glimpse of grey daylight ahead.
I stumbled out of a cave entrance and into a clearing surrounded by a tall, dense grove of trees. The rain was pouring now, drenching dozens of students as they emerged from other caves and secret passageways. A crowd huddled on the grass, a sea of blue jackets clutching luggage and sitting on large wooden trunks. Despite the rain, they were chattering and smiling, casting glances up at the clouds – and what waited within. The stormy air seemed tense with their anticipation.
Any one of them could be my new boss. If my boss was even a student. I found myself looking for other Edgars, or students with Shenti ancestry like me. I saw a few faces like mine among the Grey Coats, and a single Kshatran student milling about with some third-years. But no Shenti. Not after the war.
