But there seemed an odd chill to the air. The whole city seemed on edge. Mercurio could have sworn even the shadows seemed a touch darker than usual.
The old Blade and his fellows moved quick and silent, Mercurio melting through the throng so swift that Sidonius and Bladesinger struggled to keep up. For the first time in a long time, and despite his growing trepidation, the old man felt truly alive. His knees barely ached, his arms felt strong, his grip firm. He was put in mind of past turns, when he was a younger man. A blade at his waist. A throat to slit or a fine lass to charm. All the world just his for the taking. He didn’t rightly know what the night would bring, or how this story would end. But he’d made a promise to Mia, and by the Black Mother, he intended to keep it. He owed her that much.
He could see the Spine rising before them now, the Senate house, the great bibliotheca, the Iron Collegium, the halls of Itreyan power carved within. All around them, high into the truedark sky, rose sixteen great ossified towers—the Ribs of Godsgrave. To their left rose the first of them. The greatest of them. Smaller buildings were clustered around its feet, beautiful gardens hemmed in on all sides by an artful fence of wrought iron and limestone. Mercurio could see the broad front gates were flung wide, but dozens upon dozens of Luminatii guarded it with burning sunsteel blades.
The old man stopped at a sugar-floss stand on a busy corner, asked the young lass working it for four whips of strawberry. The girl smiled behind her domino mask and busied herself, spinning the fluffed confectionary onto long willow sticks. Mercurio waited silently, peering at the first Rib across the way. Fine coaches carrying the city’s marrowborn were lined up outside the gates, spilling dazzling donas and handsome dons from within and, after a brief check of papers, into the beautiful grounds beyond.
“I favor not our chances of entering here, good Bishop,” Adonai murmured.
“Aye,” Sidonius said, plucking at his plain clothes. “Not dressed like this.”
“You look passing fine to me.”’Singer’s smile was hidden behind her volto but glittered in her eyes. “I’d let you through the gates if you asked nicely.”
Sid chuckled. “Well, I might—”
“If you two are finished flirting?” Mercurio growled, handing out the sugar-floss.
Adonai eyed the tuft of pink confectionary with deep and abiding disdain. “No sustenance can a speaker draw from fare such as this, Bishop.”
“Aye, I’m no fan of strawberry, neither,” Sid said.
“Maw’s teeth, just fucking follow me,” the old man hissed.
Treats in hand, the quartet pushed their way through the tight-packed mob, down a broad side street. The high wrought-iron fence of the first Rib rose up on their right, the third Rib stretching up to their left. The side street was well-lit and crowded—merrymakers were making their way back and forth to their galas, servants and messengers running to and fro, and among it all, the patrols of legionaries and Luminatii were ever present. There was no chance to slip over the fence undetected.
’Singer lifted her volto, chewing thoughtfully on her floss.
“All right, what now?”
A loud bang sounded behind them, a shrill scream came a second after.
“Now that,” Mercurio replied.
More shouts followed the first, accompanied by a series of poppoppops! The crowd around Mercurio and his crew turned toward the noise to see what the fuss was. A tall plume of black smoke was rising into the truedark sky, accompanied by more cries. The curious and the brave rushed for a look-see, a patrol of legionaries barreled past, shouting for folk to make way. Soon enough, a gaggle of busybodies and gawpers and fuck-all-else-to-dos were gathering in the thoroughfare behind them.
Their side street was all but empty.
“Age before beauty,” the old man said.
Tossing his sugar-floss over his shoulder, Mercurio reached up to the wrought-iron fence. Straining with his own weight, legs kicking the air, he tried to drag himself up. But spry as he was, it seemed sixty-two years in the game was a little long for a bout of impromptu acrobatics. Red-faced and cursing, he hooked an arm around the fence, looked over his shoulder at Sidonius’s gobsmacked mug.
“Don’t just stand there like a bull’s tit, give me a fucking hand.”
The gladiatii came to his senses, offered cupped hands. Stepping on the big man’s palms, Mercurio flung himself over the fence, dropping into a thick clump of well-manicured bushes with