Chương 13: Where the Mask Led

The glazier was already waiting for me in the washroom when I arrived. I had slept badly for less than two hours and moved through the world at a distance, my legs and arms obeying through a heavy fog between my mind and everything outside it. And sometime overnight a carpenter had taken up residence inside my skull, and he was working his hammer in time with my heartbeat. Corso came through the washroom door at the second bell, grey as porridge, carrying two steaming cups.

"I don't think I have seen you late for years, Corso," I said.

"And you look like a corpse we haven't written up yet," he said.

"Speak lower."

"The glazier's widow," he continued, louder, and set a cup before me.

"They brought him in this morning. I met Sinon on my way through, and apparently the widow made a special request. Do not, she told Sinon, and allegedly she was very clear on this point, shave his crotch."

"What?" I wasn't sure I had heard that right.

"His cock. She wanted to make sure you don't shave it."

"I… We never do. Why would we do that?"

"Fuck knows," he muttered and sat down on the second stool and closed his eyes.

"I had forgotten what this felt like."

"How many bottles was that?"

"Four, Vale. We did well, I'd say."

"And that last bottle. The dregs of the worst red in Varenza, which we drank on a bridge in Novembre like students." He took a pull of his tea and grimaced.

"My sister asked why I smelled like a wine shop. I told her I was securing our retirement." The cup was hot and bitter and we drank in silence while the morning work accumulated around us. I looked over at the glazier, realising I had forgotten how far I'd gotten with my washing. I'd done his head, I think. His hair was wet. My observations were interrupted by Corso.

"Well, Vale, you have to admit that's a magnificent display of growth." I followed his eyes and grunted an assent. Looking over at him, he was squeezing his eyes shut again, trying to keep the light out.

"Tonight," he said next, not opening his eyes.

"Tonight." We had laid a plan last night, and even if dawn had brought some clarity of thought, enough that I knew this to be an unequivocally horrible plan, I'd not managed to come up with anything better. And that unmistakable feeling of excitement and purpose was still bubbling in my chest, despite the hangover.

"We take it, find where it points, and put it back before Sinon arrives."

"That is the plan." Corso opened both eyes.

"We are so going to regret this, Vale." I just nodded, and he continued.

"It needs to be back before first bell."

"We have to."

"If it is not back by then, we stole the mask."

"It's theft anyway," I said. Clear-cut and inarguable.

"If it's discovered, we are—""Fucked, Vale. Utterly and completely. At that point we cross our fingers and hope for a clean dismissal, and then we find some other item to use your skill on. Worst case, we are talking through iron bars in a couple of nights." He drank his tea, and something in his face made me ask.

"Do you think we should just drop the plan? We still can do that. Still… We can find something else."

"Nah," he said, and grinned as he put a hand on my shoulder.

"Worst case isn't so bad. Did I tell you about the time they caught me behind the women's bathhouse? I must have been twelve. Or thirteen perhaps. One of the older boys told me about this derelict building, and I went, and…" He must have seen my lack of focus and care, and hurried to complete his story.

"Anyway. They caught me. Two of them, my mother's age and strong. Ran me down across the alley, not a thread on, and grabbed me. Marched me back to the baths and waited for the city watch. And well, I guess they thought a night in a cell would teach a boy a lesson. Iron bars aren't so bad." I picked up the bucket and sponge, and started on the glazier's chest, the hammer still ringing in my head as I swayed on my feet. I agreed with him, that perhaps the gaol wouldn't be so bad compared to this.

The day took an unreasonable length of time to end. A glazier, a drowned apprentice and an old woman whose daughters disagreed about whether she had owned the red shawl kept us occupied until dusk. The shawl dispute alone produced three witnesses, none of whom had seen the old woman alive in six years. My head still pounding, I cut them off and told them the ownership of a red shawl was not a cause of death. Old age had taken her; the daughters could take their dispute elsewhere.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. And then it was finally the end of the day. Sinon, Corso and I were in the kitchens, going over arrangements for tomorrow. We had an ochre who had been ready for nearly three weeks, and at last his family had found time to bury him. We had had to sequester him once his smell reached the point where none of us—all accustomed to decay—could bear it any longer.

His family would certainly complain when they collected his remains and ask why we had done such a poor job of keeping him fresh. At one point, Sinon asked me what had gone down the night before.

"Nothing. Well. We went over to the Selvadego for a drink, and—" He nodded in understanding.

"Right, quaesitor Vale. It's good to hear you take some time away from this place. It's not so good to see the result." He took off his glasses, and leaned back in his chair.

"Do you think perhaps… You might have overdone it?"

"Likely, Ser," I answered, sitting bent over the table with my head resting on both my hands.

"Very possible."

"Right," he answered. It looked like he considered saying more, but then he reached down for the satchel on the floor, and rose.

"Right. Good night, you two. Go home, get some sleep. That ochre goes out at first bell, and after three weeks his family will arrive expecting him to smell of roses. Tomorrow will not go without a hitch. Also, lock the door when you leave," he said.

"Even if Nello is here."

"Always, Ser," Corso said, as Sinon walked out. We heard his steps disappearing down the corridor, and then it went quiet for a moment. Then, we heard the large main doors open and shut. Corso put down his cup.

"You go. I will hold up Master Barzi."

"Right," I said. From that point and onwards, the clock was counting down. I turned the kitchen lamp down and left for the Regesta, following the side wall corridors until I got there. Faintly, I could hear Corso talking about something or other. Nello's voice too low to be heard. At the door, I unlocked it quickly and went inside. The mask was still there at the desk, now lying to the side of the outgoing pile, but still wrapped in the disposal cloth. I lifted the cloth and touched the cracked bronze.

RELIC LINK DETECTED Relationship SITE Target Type Funerary chamber Bearing West / Below Estimated Salvage 80–300 florins West and below, and the pull of my skill was the same as last night. I quickly lifted the mask up and put it in my satchel, then I left the room and locked it behind me. As we had planned, I followed the corridor the long way back to the main doors, but before heading out I put my head through to the Facerium.

"Good night, gentlemen."

"Quaesitor! I didn't know you were still here." Nello's face showed excitement.

"How did it go last night? Did you manage to solve the mystery before the cart got here?"

"Not now, Master Barzi." I turned back out and waved a hand, walking out the large doors and down the stairs to the piazza. There, I crossed over to my right and waited right where one of the main thoroughfares turned west. A few minutes later, a man crossed the piazza toward me. I watched him come halfway before I remembered that I was waiting for Corso.

"You really lit up that boy's curiosity," Corso said.

"After you left, he wouldn't stop talking about the beggar. He has a good memory of last night, and even remembered you asking him about possessions hidden inside bodies. That boy is trouble, Vale."

"I suspected as much," I said. We started walking without speaking. At the first turning I passed the westward alley, and Corso caught my sleeve and steered me back without comment. My satchel was on my left hip, and every now and then I fumbled my hand into it and closed unsteady fingers around the mask. Last night. And the night before, and the days, were catching up to me. I suspected that my new Class is all that kept me on my feet, and I was wondering how Corso was managing.

At the Piazza dei Cordai the bearing ran north-west and down. We stopped at the other end, arguing about which streets to follow from here, even if it really did not matter. Varenza was many things, but its streets made a certain kind of sense. We picked one that was more or less in the right direction, followed it for a while, and then we reached the river. A low stone wall ran between the street and the river, and we followed it west.

"So, it appears we are back," Corso said. We stood there, and looked at the Ponte delle Botteghe, where we had finished off that last bottle of wine not too many hours ago.

"Is it here?" San Cassiano stood on a rise south of the river, its public steps high enough to see the tiled roofs beyond the wall. I slipped my hand into the satchel and gripped the cold bronze, and turned my head this way and that, before catching myself and stopping that. I was not a dog, and the direction of my head made no difference to my skill-sense. Looking around, I tried to make sense of this. To reconcile the sense which was clearly pulling me towards the bridge, or below it.

Walking forward again, slower now, I led us close to where the bridge met land and stopped.

"It is there," I said, and pointed out toward the river.

"In the water?" Corso answered.

"No, below. Almost exactly below the mid-point of the bridge. Below where we drank last night." Corso looked at me. The first bell was still hours away. We had time to return the mask and pretend this had never happened. Instead, we began looking for a way beneath the bridge.