‘It’s all right,’ he soothed, sitting beside her. ‘It’s not real.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really. Dreams are just little plays that go on in our heads when we’re asleep. They can’t hurt you.’
‘I can’t sleep either,’ Teg piped up.
‘Why not?’
‘’Cos
she
had a bad dream.’ He pointed an accusing finger at his sister.
‘All right, settle down, both of you.’ Kinsel tucked them in. ‘Tanalvah’s here and so am I. We’ll keep the dreams away.’
‘How?’ Lirrin asked with a child’s shrewd logic.
‘Well, I know a song that can keep you safe. It’s one my mother sang to me when I was about your age, Teg. Would you like to hear it?’
They consented, sleepily.
He began the lullaby, singing softly, bathing them in the warm comfort of its words. Soon, their eyes grew heavy.
Outside, the nightly display lit up the metropolis.
23
Anybody noticing them would assume they were siblings running an errand.
A little girl, nine or ten years old, wearing a flowered apron and buckled black shoes, her blonde hair in pigtails. She walked with a gangling, older boy, nearly a young man, clutching his hand. In the way of growing lads, this was naturally very embarrassing for him.
‘What about that one?’ the little girl exclaimed loudly, pointing across the road to a man loitering outside a tavern.
‘Please, Master,’ Kutch appealed in an undertone, ‘I do wish you wouldn’t draw quite so much attention to us.’
‘Nonsense!’ Phoenix snorted. ‘People can mind their own business. Now do as you’re told. The man over there. Yes or no?’
Kutch studied the target and made his decision. ‘Yes.’
‘Good!’ Phoenix snapped his fingers in a dismissive gesture.
Opposite, the glamour posing as a man vanished. It left a cascade of expiring sparks. A pedestrian walked through them, absently waving a hand to clear the fug.
‘Stay alert, boy, stay alert!’ Phoenix barked.
A passing stranger gave them an odd look, and slowed down to rubberneck.
The bogus child glared back at him. ‘Move along there! There’s nothing to see!’
Head down, the man hurried off. Kutch went scarlet.
They walked on, scanning everybody and everything on the streets. At last Kutch said, ‘That one.’
‘No! Only those with my signature. Not the cheap, counterfeit stuff. Just the ones I’ve conjured.’
‘That one isn’t real. On the bench.’
‘Even I can see that,’ Phoenix came back testily. ‘Remember what I told you. What are the two cardinal rules of spotting?’
‘Look and Don’t Believe.’
‘Precisely. Carry on.’
The streets were as crowded as Kutch had ever seen them. And now Phoenix was
skipping
along beside him, tiny feet pattering, ponytail swinging. The boy’s discomfort returned.
Phoenix caught the look. ‘Well, you wanted me to act more naturally, didn’t you? Keep watching. Do your job.’
Kutch sighed.
A moment later his eye alighted on something. He dismissed it, looked again and muttered, ‘Oh, clever.’ Indicating it, he said, ‘That.’
‘Well done.’ The sorcerer made a swift, complex hand gesture.
A citizen’s transport wagon drew level with them. Four horses pulled it, and it was full of passengers. The wagon, drays and passengers, the driver and his mate, all turned transparent for an instant. There was a glimpse of the skeletal structure of the horses and the people, attesting to the thorough job Phoenix had done on the casting. Then everything turned into smouldering motes and drifted away. A small inrush of air could be felt, as was common when large glamours expired. It caused some small inconvenience to the other road users, but nothing they weren’t used to.
‘You saw, didn’t you?’ Phoenix said. ‘Not only that the wagon was a glamour but also the signature I’d woven into the spell.’
‘Yes, Master. It was a bit like… I don’t know… a watermark on a piece of parchment.’
Phoenix nodded and allowed himself a small smile, crinkling his freckles. ‘You’re making a little progress, my boy.’ Then sharper: ‘Come on, come on! I’ve conjured plenty more.’
‘We’re supposed to be at the meeting.’
‘We’ll be there in time if you don’t dawdle. I’ve planted more likenesses along the route, so look about you, lad, and doubt. Look and Doubt.’
Carrying on at a faster pace, Kutch pointed things out and Phoenix either nodded or berated. To onlookers they were merely a brother and sister, bickering on their way home. With an unusually large number of glamours expiring in their wake.
They approached Karr’s hideout more soberly. Slipping in one at a time, they ran the gamut of precautions that established they were who they appeared to be.
In a corridor somewhere between the front door and the cellar, they paused so Phoenix could resume his normal form.
When they got to the subterranean conference room they found Caldason, Serrah, Karr and Quinn Disgleirio waiting for them.
‘Good, now we can start,’ Karr said. ‘Please.’ He invited them to sit with a sweep of his arm, and everyone gathered at the largest table. ‘I take it we’re cloaked against eavesdropping?’
‘I did it myself,’ Phoenix assured him.
‘Reeth’s band did well yesterday,’ Karr began, ‘and made a valuable contribution to our coffers. It’s to be regretted that this was achieved with the loss of three band-members, and the wounding of five others.’
‘I take full responsibility for that,’ Caldason volunteered.
‘I’m not criticising you, Reeth,’ the patrician replied evenly. ‘I’m merely reporting, and commemorating the fallen by mentioning them here. The losses are unhappy, but we judge the mission a success.’
Caldason seemed to accept that. Serrah shot him a sideways glance. As usual, his expression was unfathomable.
‘The coin you liberated yesterday,’ Karr went on, ‘after we return some to the people, won’t all go into Resistance war chests. In fact, most of it won’t. You’re here today to be told what the money bought. But first…’ He gestured towards the open door.
Several helpers brought in trays of drinks and sweetmeats. Setting them down on side tables, they hurried out. The door was secured.
Karr raised a cup and eyed the company. ‘Your good health.’
‘And confusion to our enemies,’ Phoenix added.
Caldason took a desultory sip of his drink. Serrah faked conviviality. Kutch wished he had less water in his wine.
Putting down his cup, Karr continued, ‘You know, it’s funny, but one of the most important things about the empires is an aspect we tend not to notice.’ He had their attention. ‘What we forget about Gath Tampoor, about both empires, is that for all their military might and economic muscle, at base they’re bureaucracies. They have to be, there’s so much to administer.’
‘I can confirm that from my encounters with the clerks in Merakasa,’ Serrah offered.
‘All existing states are built on mountains of paper,’ Karr stated.
‘What’s this got to do with us?’ Caldason asked.
‘Plenty. It provides a weak link in their chain of occupation, and in striking at it we can do ourselves some good.’
‘How does targeting paper-shufflers help us?’
‘It depends on what they’re shuffling,’ Disgleirio told him.
‘That’s exactly the point,’ Karr agreed. ‘Gath Tampoor’s Bhealfan minions generate vast amounts of information daily. Most of it’s administrative stuff of little interest to us. But some of it’s vitally important to them and us. I’m talking about the records they hold on individuals and groups they regard as enemies of the state. I think you can verify that too, Serrah.’
‘Yes. The CIS holds many files on criminals and political activists. My unit relied on them when we were planning operations.’