"Or woman-at-arms," Owen said. His patrol was getting antsy. I was getting antsy.
"Don't be smart. It was a weird bit of business."
"I agree," he said, "but I don't think that'll help us find your man. Unless what he was doing might have something to do with why he was taken."
And of course I hadn't considered that. To me, the business was bad but it was just business. In my mind, the enemies of the Fratriarch (and of the Cult of Morgan in general) didn't need a reason to do the things they did. They were crazy. They hated us. They looked for opportunities, not reasons. Consequently, I looked for ways to prevent those opportunities rather than debating the reasons behind them. I shrugged.
"Maybe. You want me to list the dozens of factions and principalities who might have a grudge against the Cult of Morgan? We've killed a lot of people in our generations."
"Might be easier to list your allies," he said.
"I don't keep that list."
"You're a real bright spot in my day, Eva Forge. So." He looked around at the dingy square where we were having our little head-tohead. "You want to pick a door to kick in, or shall I?"
"We're not kicking in doors," I said. The idiot patrollers actually looked relieved. "Maybe you're right. Maybe it was related to what we were doing."
"With the Amonite? Probably. I mean, you have to admit, it's kind of strange."
"Yeah. And there was that tail, the two guys with the tattoos around their eyes."
"The who?"
"The two guys. I told your bureaucrat all about it, during the interview."
"That wasn't in the report," he said, then started digging in one of his pouches, eventually producing a wrinkled square of paper. "`Subject picked up a tail shortly after leaving L-D,"' he read. "That's the Library Desolate."
"Yeah. I remember being there."
"Right. Anyway, picked up a tail, took flight, opted for the train out of consideration for the Fratriarch's health."
I grabbed the paper and scanned it. It was a summary of our interview, leaving out a lot of the details. I gave it back to Owen.
"Close enough. The tail was two guys, bulky, wearing cloaks. They had some kind of… armored cowl over the lower half of their faces, and they had tattoos around their eyes."
"You didn't think to mention that kind of detail in the interview?"
"I did. It's just not in your report. I mean, how much detail does a patrol Justicar need, really?"
"I guess. And those were the guys who attacked you later?"
I shook my head. The report hadn't described my attackers, either. I didn't feel up to it, right now.
"Different guys. I guess I never really thought about the disconnect. You think that's important?"
He shrugged. "I think it's interesting."
"You want to base your investigation of the disappearance of the Fratriarch on `interesting'?" I asked.
"Well, interesting is all we've got. Where was this?"
I told him, as best as I could remember. It wasn't close. At first the whiteshirts looked nervous, as they considered that kind of hike, but Owen spun up his rig and called in for a wagon. They were all very happy about that, and sat around talking about how happy they were until the wagon clattered into the square and we all piled in and made our way south, toward the Library Desolate and the place the Fratriarch and I had first run into those weird guys with their eye tattoos.
* * *
The square where Barnabas and I had stopped with the girl looked less sinister when I wasn't being pursued. The fountain was still dry, and the dark windows of the surrounding buildings looked empty rather than menacing. The monotrain rails that ran along the perimeter were quiet. All service had been stopped on this circle while the attack was being investigated and the tracks repaired. I sat on the edge of the fountain and looked around.
"Only a few hours," I said. "You wouldn't think the place would look so different."
"Perception colors reality," Owen said. "Looks the same to me."
"You're familiar with this place?"
"It's on our patrol route. It kind of always looks like this."
"Hm. Could have used you this morning," I said.
"It's a long route. We only get through here once a day, I guess. But yeah, sorry we weren't around."
I shrugged and stood up. "Let's not pretend it would have made that much of a difference."
I walked around the perimeter of the fountain, looking for anything out of place. Just cobbles and street trash. This was the last place we had rested before making the final push to the train. Last chance anyone following us would have had for an ambush. Either no one had been here, or we had moved before they pulled the trigger. I didn't think that likely. We probably lost our pursuers in our rush. Resting here had probably given them a chance to catch up, to figure out where we were going. The Library Desolate loomed darkly to our west. I turned that way and started walking. The whiteshirts followed.
We had run this part of the route, and I didn't remember much of it. Twice I had to stop and backtrack, after taking lefts when I should have taken rights. I didn't remember making a lot of turns, but walking the path now, it was clear that we had been dodging around like a rabbit in the shadow of a hawk.
"You plan your escape routes as thoroughly as you plan your rescues?" Owen asked at one point as we clumped back to the road we had just left. "Because this is either a very cleverly devised route, or you guys were just running scared."
"The Fratriarch does not run scared," I said. "But no, we didn't plan this. We got spooked."
"You should have gotten an escort," he said. "We would have walked you home."
"That came up. Frat didn't want it."
"That might have been a mistake."
"One of many, Mr. Justicar. Just one of many."
We ended up at the row of shops where Cassandra and I had pretended to argue while the two peculiar men passed us by. We got there just as night was taking the city of Ash in its grip. The moon was barely over the horizon, painting the high buildings all around with silver light. The sky was clear, and our breath puffed out as fog. Reminded me of the coldmen. Lots of stuff reminded me of those freaks today.
"This is it. Our planned route continued around this corner, up to the Terrace Boulevard, and then home. Long walk, but straight, and lots of people." By now the Terrace would be empty, but the high lamps that lined it would still be burning white. "Those two spoiled that." I indicated their path with my hand. "Came right through here and around that corner. We took off, back the way we just came."
"And you said they were big guys?"
"Bulky. Never got a look at what they were wearing underneath those cloaks. Could have been armor."
"Hm." Owen paced the street, his patrol sticking close to the wagon. All the perimeter lamps on the stubby wagon were burning, bathing the vehicle in a circle of light. Good thing this wasn't a residential district, I thought. "It seems weird that guys like that would be tailing you. They sound kind of obvious to me, like they'd stick out in a crowd."
"There was something about them. Something…" I waved my hand, looking for the thought. "Something arcane. Like they were shielded. We just didn't see them."
"Amon's Betrayers are supposed to be able to do something like that," one of the whiteshirts said, from the safety of the wagon's wide double doors. "Walk through the night like shadows, and you don't see them until they've put the knife in your back."
"Your momma tell you that, Travers?" Owen said. "That's what they do, just before they steal the candy off bad little boys. That's what I heard."
"I'm serious," I said. "Fratriarch said it, too. Something about them we couldn't see."
"Well, okay. If the Fratriarch said it. But I'm still pretty sure Travers there is just passing on fables." Owen walked down the street, his hand on his sidearm. "This way, you said?"