That was the thing about being a hero. When you took a knock, you got right back up and came back stronger.
A bellman’s cry abruptly split the air, coming from somewhere on the other side of the Bazaar.
‘Attention, good people of Dorminia. Your glorious master has cast down the treacherous Marius and cleansed his city of sin with the very waters of the Broken Sea. The war is over. All praise Lord Salazar!’
It took a moment for the crier’s words to sink in. When they did, Cole hurried as fast as he could towards the man. A crowd was already forming around the crier, who repeated the announcement and ignored the flurry of questions darting at him from every angle.
‘This can’t be true,’ a gap-toothed farmer said numbly as Cole drew closer. ‘I got a daughter in the City of Shades. What does he mean by “cleansed”? I wish this bloody lockdown would end.’
Cole didn’t bother to reply. He shouldered the man aside and pushed deeper into the unwashed mass of citizenry chattering in alarm over the news. One woman in particular seemed anxious to air her views to as many folk as possible. He watched her for a time. Eventually her eyes met his and she wandered towards him. He was about to turn his back and pretend to have pressing business elsewhere when he noticed her swaying hips. Although she wore the drab clothes of a goodwife, her bosom, too, was impressive.
As she approached, Cole saw that she wasn’t as old as he’d initially thought. Her strawberry-blond hair caught the sun and glimmered prettily. All in all she was quite pleasant to look at. Worth a minute of his time, he supposed, though he couldn’t help feeling a bit self-conscious about his bruises.
‘I take it you’ve heard,’ she said, standing in such a way that her cleavage seemed to drag his eyes downwards with irresistible force. ‘Shadowport’s no more. The City of Shades has been destroyed by Salazar himself.’ The tone of her voice changed slightly, a hint of sarcasm creeping in. ‘Strange that he waited to act until after our navy was crushed.’
Cole said nothing, settling instead on a non-committal shrug. He wasn’t about to voice treason against the Tyrant of Dorminia in the middle of a crowded market. He wasn’t stupid.
The woman leaned in close to him and her voice became a whisper. ‘I lost my husband to the Black Lottery four years ago, you know. He was a brave man.’ Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘There aren’t many like him around these days. Men prepared to take a stand.’
Cole puffed out his chest and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. If only you knew, he thought. If only you knew.
‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he lied. ‘I’m sure your husband and I would have had much in common.’ He gave her a winsome grin, and was rewarded with a shy smile in response.
‘How did you come by those bruises?’ she asked, placing a gentle hand to his face. He felt his body respond and shifted uncomfortably.
‘Let’s just say the Watch and I don’t always see eye to eye,’ he replied. He couldn’t resist giving her a conspiratorial wink. She looked thoughtful and bowed her head.
He noticed abrupt movement in the corner of his vision. One of the tradesmen the woman had been speaking with was suddenly grabbed from the back. His surprised face was visible for a split second before he disappeared behind the mass of humanity. There was a yelp, cut off as suddenly as it had begun, and then a young woman was also forcibly removed from the throng, her arms flailing before she faded from view.
A worried murmuring spread. Faces glanced left and right and behind them. Two more people were suddenly pulled from the crowd: an old woman and a man of middling years.
A dark foreboding seized Cole. He stared at the woman opposite him. She frowned as if trying to figure out some puzzle. Her eyes had changed. The wetness was gone. There was no tender recollection there, no earnest longing. They were as hard as stone.
‘I can’t work this one out,’ she said, and it took Cole a second to realize her words had been directed at someone behind him. He spun around to find a large man dressed in commoner’s garb looming over him, preparing to grab his arms. He was about to go for the dagger concealed in his sleeve when he felt a prick on the back of his neck and suddenly his body refused to listen to his brain. He was completely paralysed. Even his chest protested at drawing breath.
Cole listened to the sound of air whistling through his nose as the woman moved to stand in front of him. She held a hairpin in one hand, its pointed tip glistening red. With her other hand she removed a stud from her right ear, which had been hidden underneath her hair. Both adornments glowed softly.
‘Magic!’ he tried to exclaim, but nothing issued from his frozen mouth save for an unintelligible moan.
‘What shall we do with him, Goodlady Cyreena?’ the burly male asked.
The woman stared at Cole as she might an insect that had performed an interesting trick. ‘My earring could not read his thoughts,’ she said. ‘This has never happened before. Carry him to the safehouse on Kraken Street. I would experiment.’
Davarus Cole struggled with all his strength, but the best he could manage was to close his eyes. The day had suddenly taken a turn for the worse.
‘Look at me. Look at me or I’ll tear your prick off and feed it to you.’
Cole opened one eyelid a fraction. His whole body ached from being thrown across the shoulder of the disguised goon and carried like a sack of potatoes. He appeared to be lying on a stone table in an abandoned warehouse. A small torch provided the only illumination.
The woman who had instigated his kidnapping, Goodlady Cyreena, hovered next to a table covered in evil-looking metal instruments. Her face was as passionless as death. She regarded him with those pitiless eyes. There was something vaguely familiar about them, he thought, but he couldn’t quite work out what it was.
‘Can you feel the sensation creeping back into your muscles?’ the goodlady asked. ‘It will be hours before you can so much as walk unaided. Don’t think about escaping.’
Cole tried to work his mouth and found that his tongue had loosened enough to form mangled words. ‘Why are you doing this?’ he asked. ‘I’m innocent!’
Goodlady Cyreena pushed her hair back from her face, revealing the silver stud gleaming softly in her ear. ‘Words weren’t necessary,’ she said. ‘I could tell by the way you reacted to my mummer’s show that you harbour treacherous appetites. Usually, my bondmagic’ — she tapped the glowing metal at her ear — ‘confirms the intentions of those I suspect of treason.’ She walked over to him and placed one smooth hand on his brow. ‘You, however, refused to yield anything. No thoughts at all. That should not be possible. You are going to explain to me why I cannot read your mind.’ She looked down at him expectantly.
‘I don’t know,’ slurred Cole. ‘I was drinking last night. Maybe-’
The woman looming over him grabbed a handful of his hair and slammed his head down onto the table.
‘You will tell me how you are immune to thought-mining,’ the Augmentor said calmly, ‘or I will cut open your skull.’ She crossed back over to the table and picked up a wicked-looking scalpel. ‘I can send part of your brain for analysis,’ she said. ‘You would not survive the process. Alternatively, you can save us both some unpleasantness and tell me the truth.’
Cole felt dazed and nauseous and his mouth was suddenly as dry as a desert. He hacked up phlegm from the back of his throat to moisten his mouth. ‘I took a soporific,’ he managed. ‘A friend gave it to me.’
Goodlady Cyreena said nothing for a time. Finally, she nodded. ‘I will require a urine sample.’