The Shattered City (23 page)

‘What truth could possibly be worse than that?' Isangell demanded. She hated being shrill, but some situations called for it. ‘If you have any respect for me, you must speak.'

To her surprise, Ashiol actually paused to consider her words. His face was so serious. If the answer was really worse than succumbing to the family complaint, it must be very bad indeed.

‘You were attacked by an outside force,' he said finally, not sounding like her Ashiol at all. ‘Like a — cold, or a fever, only with malicious intent. For a few days, your mind and body were not your own. But it's over now. You are free of it.'

‘Attacked,' Isangell repeated. ‘By whom? A malicious cold? That makes so little sense.'

‘I'm not sure how else to explain it,' he said.

‘Try,' she said between her teeth.

‘There is another world, above and beneath the one you know. Battles being fought for the city every nox. Heroes. Devils. Saints and angels. You weren't supposed to get caught up in all this. Those of the daylight are usually immune.'

‘Immune to what?' This was all impossible, surely. ‘Ash, you sound like the crazy person my mother has always said you are. Was I drugged? Hypnotised?'

‘I think the word for it is … possessed,' he said reluctantly.

And oh, it was true; she could see it in his eyes. There had been something inside her, a mind other than her
own, and Isangell felt her skin prickle all over at the thought of it. ‘Are you part of this other world?'

‘Yes,' he said in a rush, as if relieved to be confessing at last. ‘Yes, I am. You don't understand how serious this is, Isangell. The Sacred Games have to go ahead.'

Not him as well! ‘Believe me, I know. Forty separate ministers and priests have spoken to me over the last two days. The Mercatus and other festivals will go on this month as planned, and they have all agreed to draw a line under the Ludi Sacris. I don't need you to tell me I shouldn't have cancelled the damn thing, I need you to tell me who made me do it.'

Ashiol was so angry, so certain. Not a hint of the rakish philanderer he usually pretended to be. He looked like a warrior, as if he was finally standing up to his true height after slouching for decades. ‘You can't draw a line under the Sacred Games, no matter what the priests say. You have to stage the closing circus today, or the city is doomed. Falling to the devils kind of doomed.'

Isangell's mouth had fallen open. ‘Are you insane?' she demanded.

‘Only nearly.'

‘The whole idea is ridiculous. The priests of the city are barely speaking to me, we don't have flowers or animals or performers …'

Ashiol laughed hollowly. He sounded just short of despair. ‘Well,' he said, ‘I can provide the animals.'

 

Of all the things Ashiol had thought he would never do, taking Isangell to the Killing Ground was top of the list. He had to weigh up which was better — accompanying her through the streets of the city, or down through the Arches.

Today, all of the Lords and Court were supposed to be on the same side. The idea was patently ridiculous, and yet Velody was in charge, and that made a difference. Today, this once, perhaps the Creature Court could be trusted to do what was necessary instead of what suited themselves.

Ashiol had not taken a swallow of imperium all morning, and he was starting to feel the lack of it.

He chose the Eyrie, to avoid them being recognised in the streets above, and led Isangell through the mess of tunnels that ran under the city until they came out in the Arches. His cousin was fascinated by this relic of history, and it was all he could do to draw her on through the maze of narrow, shabby streets in the Shambles, to the Killing Ground itself, without her stopping to ask a million questions about how the people of Aufleur had truly once lived here, underground.

Isangell coped with the tunnels and the dirt, clambering about in her day dress through the darkness. But when they walked through the Smith's forge and the harsh sunlight burst around them, Ashiol thought for a moment he might lose her.

‘Oh,' Isangell said faintly. ‘Oh, Ash — is this what you meant? About things I couldn't understand?'

This was the least of it, but he knew better than to say that now. Baby steps.

‘We need you as witness,' he said. ‘And to close the festival — since you opened the Sacred Games, before everything went to the seven hells. The daylight Duc, or Duchessa, has an essential role in the closing circus.'

Isangell's hand rested on his arm, clenching and unclenching against the cloth of his shirt. ‘Just let me know what I have to do, and I will do it,' she said, every inch the cool and poised Duchessa.

Ashiol had never been so proud of her, or so scared for her.

The sandy arena was bright and gaudy for once, filled with flapping tent cloths and pavilions. Poet had called in every favour he could from every musette company in the city, and Ashiol had to admit, he had come through for them. If only the damned rat didn't seem to be enjoying himself so much.

Ashiol led Isangell to the tiered seats, and made her comfortable on the velvets and cushions that had been laid out for them. ‘Remind me again why I trust you,' she said, her voice faltering though she looked so calm on the outside.

‘Because in your heart you know I speak only the truth, gosling,' he said, settling her on the high tiered seats. ‘And I would never hurt you.'

She gave him an exasperated look. ‘What do you need of me?'

‘What you would normally do at the circus. Take fright at the beasts, tap your foot to the songs, marvel at the saints and devils. Hide your face as they pretend to kill a dummy version of you, in the name of some saintsbegotten tradition no one really remembers. At the end, when they call for their patron's ovation, give it to them. Then you can speak the song, I can wield the knife, and there's a nice drugged lamb ready for the sacrifice. All as usual, only without the crowds.'

‘And this will save the city.'

‘We can hope.'

It was the first time Ashiol had ever seen the Creature Court united in something other than battle. It could work. It had to work. If the city would not heal itself, they were all doomed.

‘I see we're not the only audience,' Isangell noted.

Ashiol looked up and saw Heliora crossing the grounds, looking unlike herself in a borrowed dress, her shaven head thick with stubble. She had a sombre Rhian on one side of her, and a boldly dressed Delphine on the other. Ashiol frowned. He had not been aware Velody was bringing them here. It seemed like a bad idea.

All three demoiselles bowed with due deference to the aristocratic visitor, and chose seats a few tiers below Ashiol and Isangell.

The sunshine blazed over them with little actual heat. Isangell's small hand lashed out and clutched at Ashiol's knee. He resisted the urge to shake her off.
It was the noxcrawl; she wants me no more than I want her
, he reminded himself.

‘Is that a rat?' she squeaked, sounding like the child he remembered, just for a moment.

It was beginning, then. As Ashiol watched, one white rat skittered across the dry sandy stage. Then another, and another. A small horde of them converged upon the simple cloth of blue silk and silver stars that lay in the centre of the arena.

Poet did love to play the showman, and today was no exception. The rats shaped into the man with a flash of light that had to be one of his stage tricks, and when he stood before them in Lord form, it was with the blue and silver cloth neatly draped around him like a toga. ‘Demmes and seigneurs, dames and boys, milady sweet,' and with that he nodded graciously at the Duchessa with a scorching look that put a little colour in her cheeks. Oh, hells no. Ashiol found himself growling under his breath. Poet was getting no closer to Isangell, that was for damned sure.

‘Welcome to the circus of the nox, a cabaret of bloody battles and daring adventure such as you have never seen before. Believe your eyes if you must, but listen to your heart. It beats to the rhythm of our song.' Poet grinned toothily. ‘The song of the monsters of Aufleur.'

There were more fireworks and sparks after that, and then a parade of animals. An odd mix of creatures to be sure — panthers and stripecats were hardly out of place in the arena of an Aufleur circus, but it was rare to see domestic cats, with birds and mice alongside them, weaving together as if they were not natural enemies, predators and prey. Ashiol remembered that their grandfather the old Duc had been trying to get wolves to perfom in his own circuses for years, but no one could tame them to any satisfactory results. The old Duc had not had Livilla on his side.

‘Why are there no beast-handlers?' Isangell asked in a whisper.

Delphine, overhearing her, giggled.

‘Demmes and seigneurs,' Poet announced with great flair as the animals cleared the arena once more. ‘May I present our first bout of the evening — the gladius and the slashcats!'

Ashiol wondered if Mars was up to a sword fight with his own courteso, then almost swallowed his own tongue when he saw Crane stride out in the leathers of a gladius, steel sword bared. How had Velody talked him into this indignity?

‘He's pretty,' Isangell said approvingly.

Rhian turned in her seat and presented the Duchessa with a basket of fresh flowers. ‘For your favours, milady,' she said clearly.

‘Oh, thank you, demoiselle.' Isangell took the basket with pleasure and selected a crimson camellia, tapping it thoughtfully back and forth. ‘The favours are the best part,' she confided to Ashiol. ‘I was rather sorry to miss out on it this year. At least, I think I was. If only I could remember.' She blew a kiss to Crane and waved the camellia at him. ‘Someday you'll have to show me what kind of show you can put on when not working at the last minute, Ashiol.'

‘Oh, it would be a marvel to behold,' he muttered sourly.

The fight was to be staged, of course. The steel sword made Crane's part in that easy — it simply would not leave a mark in the bodies of the three silver slashcats currently pacing back and forth on the sands. It would be harder for Farrier who would have to rely on actual restraint, never an easy thing in Court form. If he could resist the urge to bite Crane's throat out, all would be well.

The fight was swift and dramatic, with plenty of over-telegraphed moves. The cats snapped and slashed at Crane, playing with him.

Ashiol was swiftly bored, his attention drawn instead to the audience, and their reactions. Delphine was watching the sword, her head tilting imperceptibly with every flash of the blade. Saints, was Macready right about her? It seemed impossible that a little wench like that could make the transition into sentinel, especially at her age.

Isangell made a small noise and hid her face in Ashiol's shoulder when Crane ‘dispatched' the slashcats, one after the other, with dramatic thrusts of the sword. A moment later her nails dug fiercely into his arm as the slain slashcats shimmered and shaped themselves into a fit naked man, the sword still lodged beneath his ribs.
He rose, and he and Crane bowed to the audience.

Delphine and Rhian cheered and threw rose petals. Isangell looked faintly stunned, and then hurled a camellia to each of the young men. ‘Will it all be like that?' she asked Ashiol quietly. ‘This is not like any circus I have ever attended.'

‘This is just the beginning,' he promised her.

The traditional circus for the Ludi Sacris began with ‘the day of beasts and song'. Velody and Poet had taken this quite literally for the first half of their show. Poet sang two of his musette numbers, a comic and a tragic. Livilla sang too, her voice throaty and vulnerable, as her new courtesa performed a choreographed dance of sparrows across the arena.

Warlord the panther took on Kelpie and won, pinning her to the sands and licking her face until she rebelled against the role she had been given, and kicked him in the balls. Ashiol held his breath at that point, waiting for him to savage her in retaliation but instead Mars shaped himself mortal and kissed her messily, half-carrying her off stage before his mouth left hers.

Isangell fanned herself. ‘Can we hire these people for the next set of Sacred Games?' she asked breathlessly.

‘Ask me again after Cerialis,' said Ashiol. ‘We'll see how many are still alive.'

The back of his neck prickled. The everlight of the Killing Ground made it timeless, but it should be late afternoon. They only had a couple of hours to make this work.

‘I'm not stupid, Ashiol,' Isangell said quietly. ‘I know this isn't just a circus.'

‘I hope it's the best damned circus Aufleur has ever had,' Ashiol said. ‘We need it to be.'

 

Isangell's head hurt from the bright sunshine. She was out of her depth. She did not know who any of these performers were, but she could not shake the feeling that she was the least important person here.

The acts were beginning to blur into each other — men and beasts and swords and songs — and Ashiol was watching the whole thing so intently, as if it were about to fold up like a paper bird and fly away.

‘Is this what you've been doing all this time?' she asked him. ‘When they all thought you were — drinking and carousing?'

‘Not this,' said Ashiol after a long pause. ‘This is new to us. But the Creature Court, yes.'

Creature Court. The words had an extra reality to them the way he spoke them aloud, as if there were a hundred layers of meaning that she could never comprehend. ‘So my mother was wrong all this time,' Isangell said, rather pleased at the idea. ‘She keeps trying to tell me that you're crazy, or broken, and that you can only bring misery to our family. But all this time, you've been fighting to protect us.'

‘Oh no,' Ashiol said, his eyes on the grey sand. A beautiful demoiselle was dancing, so lightly that she seemed to walk on air, and her arms fluttered like the wings of a bird. ‘Aunt Eglantine had the right of it, all along. Broken. Crazy. Dangerous.'